<?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-810777374969015975</id><updated>2012-01-18T15:50:39.509+08:00</updated><category term='Contemplative reflections'/><category term='Compliments'/><category term='hiking'/><category term='Jesus and SPM'/><category term='National Service Satire'/><category term='Sex'/><category term='Ramblings'/><category term='Raging Rants'/><category term='ethnic traditions'/><category term='hanging out'/><category term='Alex'/><category term='Frustrations'/><category term='Jesus'/><category term='Humour'/><category term='activities'/><category term='Pain'/><category term='Fatherhood'/><category term='Politically Exciting'/><category term='Education'/><category term='Analogy'/><title type='text'>raising alex</title><subtitle type='html'>raising alex can really challenge your conventional, orthodox ideas</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>297</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-930793296594138222</id><published>2012-01-16T20:38:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T21:47:24.273+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Old BItter</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Its been too long since I last posted. I wished I wouldn't have to use this place to wash my dirty linen. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One day, I shall grow old. And when I do, I'd rather descend on my own volition instead of having to be called down. I recognise that in every man's life, he shall one day be crowned king over his own domain, and subsequently when his time passes, he would step aside for his successor, and be a sage, the advisor to the succeding king. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today, I'm taking leadership over a certain domain. The preceding king crowned me. And thence starts the inglorious moments. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jvyiOM67Oj8/TxQo6fQ20OI/AAAAAAAABOs/LyfkPkddI-0/s320/samuel-anointing-david.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698224413820244194" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The previous batch of leadership is to move on. I feel sad for the fact that they've faithful served out of their time, energy and finances. I do not question their zeal. However, the current situation is such that they have outgrown from the ministry required of them, ie. no longer students, and hence, for lack of a better word, they are "phased-out". &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wish to honour them better. Ascribe great things to their credit, than to merely see them fade out to the background, leaving the scene as if nothing happened.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nonetheless they remain as my advisors, and mentors, guiding me on matters coming my way. Today, after much deliberation with another core ministry member of mine, we decided to take the cell group for a vacation. And so I regurgitated what we discussed to Jay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"We're planning to make a trip down this 6th and 7th of February"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"How do you plan to get there?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Veronica will be driving the van. However, there's an issue. Diana and Katherine will be at Seremban and they suggested that we pick them up from there..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;a short pause ensued&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"...Of course, I didn't say a thing, not wanting to promise them yet..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You noticed that I just smiled? You will have to learn from a lot of mistakes on your own. Only then will it be fun. Otherwise it will just be me and Veronica directing you on this and that, then you'd feel as if you're being pulled around like a puppet on strings. If you don't encounter mistakes, then it wouldn't be fun isn't it?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He sneered.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wished he hadn't need to be this bitter. It very unbecoming of whoever he needs to be. I can't see why the logic in having to parent such an overgrown adolescent in the midst of his bitter immaturity. And I wonder if he's allergic to acting like his age. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-930793296594138222?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/930793296594138222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=930793296594138222&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/930793296594138222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/930793296594138222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2012/01/old-bitter.html' title='Old BItter'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jvyiOM67Oj8/TxQo6fQ20OI/AAAAAAAABOs/LyfkPkddI-0/s72-c/samuel-anointing-david.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1064992119682660887</id><published>2010-08-25T14:10:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-25T23:44:09.374+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Security</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/THU5m5ns9bI/AAAAAAAABN4/Hx1QCbCWaDk/s320/ulcrest.gif" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509373059622827442" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;The thing about security is an elusive thing. You think you have it, but you actually don't. And sometimes when you feel like you don't have it, but unforeseen harsh circumstances actually proves otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just got my results. LLB external program by the University of London is certainly not a fancy course to be reckoned with. It consumes your every physical, mental and emotional energy. I myself, am drained out like a bag of coconut shreddings off its cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I passed. Maybe not as good as others, but I passed. I thought I would fail. My take? I think I did not performed optimally. But I passed nonetheless with 3 credits.  But the questions still lingers.&lt;br /&gt;Do I have what it takes?&lt;br /&gt;Am I smart?&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/THU6GND0PAI/AAAAAAAABOQ/Muzdydbiv4Q/s200/0.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509373597416963074" /&gt;Am I the man I think I am ?&lt;br /&gt;[Or do I just allow someone to emasculate me?]Do I impress people?&lt;br /&gt;Do people value me?&lt;br /&gt;Why do I require validation from the men around me?&lt;br /&gt;Am I [dare I say...] good looking?&lt;br /&gt;Do I have a good physique?&lt;br /&gt;Can I play music well?&lt;br /&gt;Am I atheletic enough?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know these things just doesn't define me. I thought results defined me. Not so, until minutes after I received my results, my carnal me was twitching because some acquaintance knew how to do a handstand, and mind you, he's got great looks. So, here I am looking at tutorials on how to do a handstand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find myself like a moth flying around a burning candle. That tragic obsession with validation from others. It would destroy me. If i didn't pass this time around, I would have died! at least not literally. BUt i know I might just condemn myself into immediate stupidity. How do I begin?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/THU5na8N0ZI/AAAAAAAABOA/5_jBTSybXlc/s320/trace-bundy1.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 229px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509373068567237010" /&gt;It a journey again. discovering my worth, in Jesus and nothing else. At the end of the day, I know my security and identity doesn't flow from what I can do, or what I have done. Its who I am in Christ. And I am bringing that truth into my heart. Now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="style_5"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="style_5"&gt;"In Christ dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="style_6"&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;you are complete in Him&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="style_5"&gt; Who is the Head of all principality and power" &lt;/span&gt; Colossians 2:9,10&lt;/blockquote&gt;A valiant warrior. A king. Wonderfully and fearfully made. A royal priest. A son of the God, Most High.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1064992119682660887?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1064992119682660887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1064992119682660887&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1064992119682660887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1064992119682660887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2010/08/security.html' title='Security'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/THU5m5ns9bI/AAAAAAAABN4/Hx1QCbCWaDk/s72-c/ulcrest.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3127171429608669196</id><published>2010-06-15T16:34:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T17:31:17.314+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fighting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBdH2OrZsMI/AAAAAAAABNo/o8yNKbUVrfc/s1600/frank-mir-lesnar-leg-lock.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBdH2OrZsMI/AAAAAAAABNo/o8yNKbUVrfc/s320/frank-mir-lesnar-leg-lock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482930068325511362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More than often we hear the preacher faithfully exhorting his congregation to resist and to combat corruption. We find ourselves passionately agreeing in prayer when the minister invites us to stand in the gap for our nation and ask Providence for a righteous government, one that is free of corruption, an epitome of integrity. We would even be able to relate to an incident where we break down and cry out to God to wipe out those corrupt serpents from the nation’s corridor of power. All is good.&lt;br /&gt;But there comes a point of time where what we want, is really questioned. Well, at the very least, I was being questioned. Do I want a country stubbornly stained with corruption or do I want a nation of which I can stand up and say that I’m proud that its clean.&lt;br /&gt;It all starts from us, really. I rear-ended a car recently. I was sad of course. In fact, sad is an understatement. I was utterly inwardly crushed. The girl [driver] was of course a temptation for me to announce its astudity. She didn’t know what to do. I had to offer my identification card number, my contact and everything necessary. She wanted me to assess the injury. I knew from there that she wasn’t really that ‘wise’. I consciously did not want to take advantage of her. I told her I’d get it to a mechanic and repair the damage. She said she’d contact me later.&lt;br /&gt;She did, and she said the damage is RM500 which was a ridiculously large amount of money. I said fine, I’d pay but I can only do that by instalment. She refused and said that her mechanic could not accept it [she could have paid him first] and that she could not bring her car to my mechanic because she lived in mainland. I foresaw that she wanted to take advantage of me. In disappointment, I told her to make a police report.&lt;br /&gt;I was told to tell my father to make a police report, stating that it was him who drove the car to avoid paying an extra of RM 400 on top of a RM 300 summon because I was below 21. So I obediently did. My father made a police report. The police didn’t believe it was him who drove it.  He showed the report made by the girl. She stated that it was a male in his early 20s who drove it. It was clearly me.&lt;br /&gt;All I wanted is to avoid paying an extra RM 400 to the insurance company. So I handed in my licence for the police’s documentation. To my horror, it was then I realised that my licence expired by a day.  My father immediately jumped to his feet and made arrangements to treat the police. And the police on the other hand, while he had no choice but to issue a summon on two offences [causing an accident &amp;amp; driving with an expired licence], he promised to settle the payment for me in return of a special treat. I just stood back with disgust, filth, shame, guilt all scribbled on my face. I didn’t know that I would have allowed myself to degrade this low. What would my Liege think of my doing? How sure am I that He will approve of it? Or perhaps I should rephrase my rhetoric. How sure I am that He will disapprove of it? As surely as the sun that rises from the lofty mountains every morn.&lt;br /&gt;While my head hung low, disappointed at how deceitful I became, this is what I understood from my situation, as illuminated by the Spirit. I did something wrong and therefore, I must own up to it. That is what it means to be a man. I must be responsible for my actions. And what about the fine I so much wanted to avoid? I am proud to say I am frugal when it comes  spending. But it sure made me a different person. I tried so much to avoid paying extra. Could I have wanted to avoid paying more at any cost? Am I willing to pay the price; to deny my allegiance to Christ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBdH2gRuxiI/AAAAAAAABNw/-lpdHYcTYHg/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 185px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBdH2gRuxiI/AAAAAAAABNw/-lpdHYcTYHg/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482930073049679394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I withdrew RM 800 from my bank account. I’m going to pay my fine. I don’t feel good about losing so much cash especially when I am terribly short of them. But I know this, that God approves of what I am doing, and secondly, that my Father is rich beyond what I can ever imagine. As I obey and walk as a man of integrity, I know He’s going to bless me.&lt;br /&gt;Today I felt a peace I have not felt for quite some time, especially during the nights , thinking if any of the planned deception should fail. I know I have lost a large sum of money, but I know I have gained a life. He’s proud of me. And that makes it all right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3127171429608669196?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3127171429608669196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3127171429608669196&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3127171429608669196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3127171429608669196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2010/06/fighting.html' title='Fighting'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBdH2OrZsMI/AAAAAAAABNo/o8yNKbUVrfc/s72-c/frank-mir-lesnar-leg-lock.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3497352063808401808</id><published>2010-06-15T16:31:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T16:34:14.034+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Picture</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBc6nC49TDI/AAAAAAAABNQ/HHVwZYM6Hk8/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBc6nC49TDI/AAAAAAAABNQ/HHVwZYM6Hk8/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482915513811946546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;How do you actually fake a photograph? They say a picture [or a photograph in this case] paints [captures] a thousand words [a thousand emotions]. So there it was a family portrait fest going about the church. It was family month, and one of the biggest highlights of the events orchestrated would be a family portrait session.   &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I had thoughts racing through my mind at the speed of sound, with the outstanding feature that it races around my head in a circular motion, making certain that I’d take notice of it. And I did. What if I asked my family to a session of family photography? What emotions would be captured by the lens? A lens so brutally demanding. Honesty is what it wants. How do you fake a smile?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I try not to judge. Really. But everytime I look at him, I hear ear-piercing screams of pain. I can smell the sickening scent of charred flesh. I smell blood. I smell anguish. I hear tears dropping. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Will my picture look like another perfect family portrait? Well, one thing can be certain; that no family is perfect. That, I can identify as the universal truth. But will I be able to have one family photo where I’d be able to tell that happiness and love really did saturate the air? I fear. I question. I yearn. I don’t know. I. Don’t. Want. To. Think. Further.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;A picture so torn is not worth capturing in the first place. Time to heal the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3497352063808401808?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3497352063808401808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3497352063808401808&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3497352063808401808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3497352063808401808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2010/06/picture.html' title='Picture'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/TBc6nC49TDI/AAAAAAAABNQ/HHVwZYM6Hk8/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4856252727803461236</id><published>2009-10-20T12:24:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T12:46:30.012+08:00</updated><title type='text'>iCandles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St1AfYSwpyI/AAAAAAAABMs/T6dquP8v3eE/s1600-h/1969430222_73397056e3_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 161px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St1AfYSwpyI/AAAAAAAABMs/T6dquP8v3eE/s400/1969430222_73397056e3_m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394538836500981538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as I sitting alone in the dark, I lit my candles, and I see them burn. I'm leaving it all behind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4856252727803461236?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4856252727803461236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4856252727803461236&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4856252727803461236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4856252727803461236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/10/icandles.html' title='iCandles'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St1AfYSwpyI/AAAAAAAABMs/T6dquP8v3eE/s72-c/1969430222_73397056e3_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-67625957926323190</id><published>2009-10-20T12:07:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T12:23:45.842+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Unlike Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St06yvioUDI/AAAAAAAABMk/0ENQ981TO8s/s1600-h/2284023857_2d0ec31511.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St06yvioUDI/AAAAAAAABMk/0ENQ981TO8s/s320/2284023857_2d0ec31511.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394532572089307186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unlike Me&lt;/span&gt; -&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; Kate Havnevik&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a couple of words with my father. Unlike me. I know. I told him things I would never say myself. I spoilt his day. Heck, I need to tell him how my days are spoilt as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I don't want new clothes."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I don't want Japanese Food."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I don't want a PSP."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thinks I'm harder to satisfy than a spoilt son of a Sultan. I beg to differ. I simply know my priorities. I refuse that which he unilaterally offers. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unlike me&lt;/span&gt;? I never wanted it from the first place. That new-found sudden outburst of courage? &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unlike me&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-67625957926323190?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/67625957926323190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=67625957926323190&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/67625957926323190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/67625957926323190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/10/unlike-me.html' title='Unlike Me'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/St06yvioUDI/AAAAAAAABMk/0ENQ981TO8s/s72-c/2284023857_2d0ec31511.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6091500947291853420</id><published>2009-08-30T19:40:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T19:41:50.022+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lore or Foreshadow ?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of passage?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; His father takes him into the forest, blindfolds him and leaves him alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it. He cannot cry out for help to anyone. Once he survives the night, he is a MAN. He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him. Maybe even some human might do him harm.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; The wind blew the grass and earth, and shook his stump, but he sat stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could become a man!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Finally, after a horrific night the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold. It was then that he discovered his father sitting on the stump next to him. He had been at watch the entire night, protecting his son from harm.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; We, too, are never alone. Even when we don't know it, our Heavenly Father is watching over us, sitting on the stump beside us. When trouble comes, all we have to do is reach out to Him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6091500947291853420?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6091500947291853420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6091500947291853420&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6091500947291853420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6091500947291853420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/08/lore-or-foreshadow.html' title='Lore or Foreshadow ?'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3149975935622183880</id><published>2009-08-30T16:37:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T16:48:39.552+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lack</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Spo8woxpLjI/AAAAAAAABMU/IQzcA-iKtNY/s1600-h/kid-lacking-self-confidence.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Spo8woxpLjI/AAAAAAAABMU/IQzcA-iKtNY/s200/kid-lacking-self-confidence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375675911497133618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ambassadors of the High King never lack. Why do I find myself miserably in want?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3149975935622183880?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3149975935622183880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3149975935622183880&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3149975935622183880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3149975935622183880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/08/lack.html' title='Lack'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Spo8woxpLjI/AAAAAAAABMU/IQzcA-iKtNY/s72-c/kid-lacking-self-confidence.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2003013884563589993</id><published>2009-08-28T00:00:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T00:04:00.979+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Today has been okay...</title><content type='html'>Nick: If everything is okay, why do you need to go see a therapist?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alex : Coz okay means its not exceptionally good.&lt;br /&gt;           Coz okay is a nicer word&lt;br /&gt;           Coz okay is less devastating to the ear&lt;br /&gt;           Coz okay means I inwardly need help.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2003013884563589993?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2003013884563589993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2003013884563589993&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2003013884563589993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2003013884563589993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/08/today-has-been-okay.html' title='Today has been okay...'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-431151291446053719</id><published>2009-08-03T23:48:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T01:42:55.692+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Soccer</title><content type='html'>A and B watched a game of soccer on national television&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A: I bet I can kick that ball better &lt;br /&gt;B: You'd better kick yourself in the butt. You just lost a son&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-431151291446053719?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/431151291446053719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=431151291446053719&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/431151291446053719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/431151291446053719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/08/soccer.html' title='Soccer'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-24803561989637174</id><published>2009-07-26T19:51:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-07-26T20:19:20.391+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Back Talks</title><content type='html'>Some people aren't so wise. Why? Let me illustrate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg is a junior. Montgomery and Foster are both in sophomore year. Montgomery and Forster both intend to make their last year in high school a memorable one. Montgomery is  in the same musical division as Greg while Forster is a long friend of Greg. Coincidentally, all three happen to be involved in their local philantrophic music society, to which Forster was a very fresh member. Greg and Forster both felt in their own ways that they should develope a certain bond and space to share significant last words before they part ways. Forster became Greg's mentor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Due to a certain fold in chronology, the philantrophic society felt that a mentor-mentee system should be implemented for the benefit of the younger generation.  While Greg and Forster was already engaged in such a system before it even came into official existence, Montgomery, unaware of this, asked if he could be Greg's mentor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg in response said that he was already being mentored by Forster, to which Montgomery replied that Forster is not a suitable mentor as he was new in the society, and he is a better candidate. The scene was rather a tense one as Greg never intends to make Montgomery his mentor while Montgomery was rather persistent in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Greg later told Forster everything that went on in that meet-up.&lt;br /&gt;Lesson? Be careful when you speak. What comes out of the mouth reflects what is in the heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-24803561989637174?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/24803561989637174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=24803561989637174&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/24803561989637174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/24803561989637174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/back-talks.html' title='The Back Talks'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7220828105055514181</id><published>2009-07-13T02:26:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T02:26:38.221+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Audacious Act</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="text"&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;Key Bible Verse:&lt;/strong&gt; Now he loved them to the very end… . he began to wash the disciples' feet (John 13:1,5). Bonus Reading: &lt;a href="javascript:linkToScripture('John+13%3A1-5');" class="text" title="view Scripture passage at NLTStudyBible.com"&gt;John 13:1-5&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="javascript:linkToScripture('John+13%3A12-17');" class="text" title="view Scripture passage at NLTStudyBible.com"&gt;12-17&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;I&lt;/strong&gt;n Portland, Oregon, the homeless gather under the Burnside Bridge. For more than three years, carloads of Christians from Bridgetown Ministries have shown up on Friday nights to serve these needy men and women. In addition to providing hot meals, shaves, and haircuts, some of the volunteers wash the homeless people's feet. Tom Krattenmaker, a writer for USA Today, was stunned by the display, calling it "one of the most audacious acts of compassion and humility I've witnessed."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;These outcasts of society had their bare feet immersed in warm water, scrubbed, dried, powdered, and placed in clean socks. One man reported with a smile, "I can't find the words to describe how good that felt."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;"Washing someone's feet is an act best performed while kneeling,'" Krattenmaker commented. "Given the washer's position, and the unpleasant appearance and odor of a homeless person's feet, it's hard to imagine an act more humbling."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;In preparation for their outreach, the leader of Bridgetown Ministries said, "When you go out there tonight, I want you to look for Jesus. You might see him in the eyes of a drunk person, a homeless person … we're just out there to love on people."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="bio"&gt;—John Beukema in PreachingToday.com&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;My Response:&lt;/strong&gt; How might I "look for Jesus" in my community?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;Thought to Apply:&lt;/strong&gt; Christianity demands a level of caring that transcends human inclinations.        &lt;span class="citation"&gt;—Erwin Lutzer (pastor)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7220828105055514181?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7220828105055514181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7220828105055514181&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7220828105055514181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7220828105055514181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/audacious-act.html' title='Audacious Act'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5875786452125397508</id><published>2009-07-07T02:18:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T02:21:13.093+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Royal Treatment</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="text"&gt;   &lt;strong&gt;T&lt;/strong&gt;he first time I met the pastor of Parkway Hills Baptist Church in Plano, Texas, was at a prearranged lunch discussion. I soon realized that this man had a magnetic personality that made people just want to be around him. As we entered the restaurant together, we were greeted by the maitre d', a man who spoke with a heavy foreign accent.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;In the blink of an eye, Pastor Dennis was placing his hand on this man's shoulder and saying, "Sir, I don't believe I've had the opportunity to meet you. My name is Sam Dennis. This is the fourth time I've been here, and I want to tell you how impressed I am with how you treat everyone who walks in your doors. You always greet them with a smile and a word of kindness. I think the owner of this place should give you a big raise, and if he's here, I'll tell him so myself."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;Talk about making someone's day! The maitre d' was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. I was completely dumbfounded as I watched this unfold.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p class="text"&gt;"And by the way," Sam added, "I'm the pastor of a church down the street, and we'd love to have you be our special guest. If you'll come, I'd be honored to have you and your family sit with me and my family."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="text"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="text"&gt;Today's article was taken from &lt;a href="http://www.christianitytoday.com/moi/2009/001/january/9.9.html"&gt;Men of Integrity&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5875786452125397508?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5875786452125397508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5875786452125397508&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5875786452125397508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5875786452125397508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/royal-treatment.html' title='Royal Treatment'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3178520201769546519</id><published>2009-07-02T13:23:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T13:39:37.527+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Things</title><content type='html'>What funny things people can do when their psyche is internally disturbed? I've noticed a few.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;They test relational boundaries.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They start clanging bowls with metal spoons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They start praying the house with insecticide&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They blast vulgar rap songs with their home theatre system. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They turn their houses into a pub-like scene with dim lights and 80's rouchy music&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They abuse water by spraying it all over the house, claiming its potency in 'cooling down' the house&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I wish life doesn't have to be this embarrassing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well...&lt;br /&gt;I sure dun fancy Madonna&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkxH3l3D0nI/AAAAAAAABLg/A1Y79CC66is/s1600-h/madonna-80s-look.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkxH3l3D0nI/AAAAAAAABLg/A1Y79CC66is/s200/madonna-80s-look.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353733077418103410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3178520201769546519?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3178520201769546519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3178520201769546519&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3178520201769546519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3178520201769546519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/funny-things.html' title='Funny Things'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkxH3l3D0nI/AAAAAAAABLg/A1Y79CC66is/s72-c/madonna-80s-look.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2606095627694502443</id><published>2009-07-01T02:00:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T02:10:09.856+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Offering of the Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkpU9glKoaI/AAAAAAAABLY/6LF-l7NBsYo/s1600-h/42-16790015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 135px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkpU9glKoaI/AAAAAAAABLY/6LF-l7NBsYo/s200/42-16790015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353184522777829794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With what shall I come before the LORD&lt;br /&gt;      and bow down before the exalted God?&lt;br /&gt;      Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,&lt;br /&gt;      with calves a year old? &lt;p&gt; &lt;sup id="en-NIV-22656" class="versenum" value="7"&gt;7&lt;/sup&gt; Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,&lt;br /&gt;      with ten thousand rivers of oil?&lt;br /&gt;      Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,&lt;br /&gt;      the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;sup id="en-NIV-22657" class="versenum" value="8"&gt;8&lt;/sup&gt; He has showed you, O man, what is good.&lt;br /&gt;      And what does the LORD require of you?&lt;br /&gt;      To act justly and to love mercy&lt;br /&gt;      and to walk humbly with your God.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Micah 6:6-8&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2606095627694502443?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2606095627694502443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2606095627694502443&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2606095627694502443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2606095627694502443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/07/offering-of-heart.html' title='Offering of the Heart'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkpU9glKoaI/AAAAAAAABLY/6LF-l7NBsYo/s72-c/42-16790015.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-914969545205951214</id><published>2009-06-29T16:04:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T16:46:56.163+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Its A Sad Day</title><content type='html'>Today is a sad day. I just terminated a relationship which is close to my heart. I love my mentor like my own flesh. But it was a good decision. At least that was what I suppose. Whatever I felt deep within, I just snuff it out. Yet, I cannot deny I felt hurt and disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very sad. Its like I lost my heart. The past is so painful. I don't know how to move on. I don't know how to deal with my wounds. I don't know who to go to. As I extend my hands, I get slapped on the wrist. Sometimes I wish life doesn't need to be this bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The world doesn't need to feel this lonely. The world doesn't need to be this dark. The world doesn't need to feel like fear is flooding my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still trying to get out. The pain and fear is real. Salty tears and silent heart wails.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-914969545205951214?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/914969545205951214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=914969545205951214&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/914969545205951214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/914969545205951214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/its-sad-day.html' title='Its A Sad Day'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4032068782891516306</id><published>2009-06-29T15:41:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T16:03:56.231+08:00</updated><title type='text'>grace...A G A I N</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Skh1Qbo7RAI/AAAAAAAABLQ/MW6w2fpDtX4/s1600-h/Mercy_MONO.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Skh1Qbo7RAI/AAAAAAAABLQ/MW6w2fpDtX4/s200/Mercy_MONO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352657082287604738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I hate to sound as if grace is a boring thing. No, its not, despite the number of plain women who go by the name of Grace Blah-blah-blah. If it weren't for grace, I doubt I would be where i am today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been seeing this minister at a local non-mainstream church on several issues which I've been struggling at. I relate to him my entire history and I was surprised that I did not suffer from emotional incontinence. It would be rather embarrassing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da-dada-dada. With so many memories leaving distinct imprints on my pysche, he said he was surprised I did not sell my soul to some vices. I don't know. But I guess he would meant that I could have had a double life wherein I could have given my life away at the pathways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grace. It means getting what I do not deserve.&lt;br /&gt;Mercy. It means not getting what I deserve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grace. It meant that I am given that privilege to be God's elect.&lt;br /&gt;Mercy. It meant that I was spared from a tighter grasp of my family history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really know why I am typing this post. Guess there are important things I have to remind myself at this point of time. Grace is a big word.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4032068782891516306?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4032068782891516306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4032068782891516306&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4032068782891516306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4032068782891516306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/gracea-g-i-n.html' title='grace...A G A I N'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Skh1Qbo7RAI/AAAAAAAABLQ/MW6w2fpDtX4/s72-c/Mercy_MONO.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7576317606303236270</id><published>2009-06-26T02:12:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T03:12:57.667+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Idols</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;All her idols will be broken to pieces;&lt;br /&gt;     all her temple gifts will be burned with fire;&lt;br /&gt;     I will destroy all her images.&lt;br /&gt;     Since she gathered her gifts from the wages of prostitutes,&lt;br /&gt;     as the wages of prostitutes they will again be used."&lt;br /&gt;                                                                 Micah 1:7&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what about idol? I knew God hated idols. I knew he had a strong hatred towards them. I'm not so suprised. These idols are images that obstruct us [ME] from seeing his glory in its fullness. well, I don't have a Pazuzu idol, neither do i have a Baal in my room. But I know i've got more than those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter what kind of an idol I have. They all bear the same difference. As long as I can't see God when I have my 'idols', they are in effect, the idols God wants to burn. Micah the not-so-minor, minor prophet prophesied that ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who live in Maroth writhe in pain,&lt;br /&gt;     waiting for relief,&lt;br /&gt;     because disaster has come from the LORD,&lt;br /&gt;     even to the gate of Jerusalem.&lt;br /&gt;                                                  Micah 1:12&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought to myself. blah blah blah. Not quite.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe its just another of God's extermination stories. Not quite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have idols. Allow me to introduce you to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shame&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkPMHRnbBlI/AAAAAAAABLI/KJtb_58CD8I/s1600-h/pazazu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkPMHRnbBlI/AAAAAAAABLI/KJtb_58CD8I/s200/pazazu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351345207606183506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pride&lt;br /&gt;Pain&lt;br /&gt;Brokenness&lt;br /&gt;Self-Absorbed&lt;br /&gt;Self-Pity&lt;br /&gt;Superficiality&lt;br /&gt;Pretense&lt;br /&gt;Memories&lt;br /&gt;Dependence&lt;br /&gt;Emotions&lt;br /&gt;Rebellion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The list can really be endless. And because I brought offerings to these idols, God doesn't seem to be veery pleased about it. Because he loves me. Because I am unable to give him my whole heart, as much as I desire. I therefore, need to be consumed in that fire of his. This process, its not a pleasant one. I am going to writh in pain. I suppose it can't go any worse can it? I'm already in pain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7576317606303236270?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7576317606303236270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7576317606303236270&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7576317606303236270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7576317606303236270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/idols.html' title='Idols'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SkPMHRnbBlI/AAAAAAAABLI/KJtb_58CD8I/s72-c/pazazu.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6078631551387885946</id><published>2009-06-24T22:46:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T22:51:36.914+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thus Saith My Wicked Heart</title><content type='html'>Dear somebody-somebody,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not demanding. I dun ask for much. But there is this one tiny thing in my wicked-trying to be pure heart. I dun pray against natural disasters, heck I dun even pray for global peace. But this one thing. I pray that you will never ever talk to me again. I know its wicked, dark and twisted, but if you have nothing good to say, I'd rather we not converse for the rest of eternity. God keep you safe and healthy and able-bodied, but I wish not to talk to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you very much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6078631551387885946?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6078631551387885946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6078631551387885946&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6078631551387885946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6078631551387885946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/thus-saith-my-wicked-heart.html' title='Thus Saith My Wicked Heart'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7619397828606264208</id><published>2009-06-09T18:38:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T18:40:43.627+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chrysostom</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;"Do you wish to honour the body of Christ? Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad. He who said: "This is my body" is the same who said: "You saw me hungry and you gave me no food", and "Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also to me"... What good is it if the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eucharist" title="Eucharist"&gt;Eucharistic&lt;/a&gt; table is overloaded with golden chalices when your brother is dying of hunger? Start by satisfying his hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well."&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                 St. John Chrysostom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7619397828606264208?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7619397828606264208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7619397828606264208&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7619397828606264208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7619397828606264208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/chrysostom.html' title='Chrysostom'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7627181583480719261</id><published>2009-06-08T10:52:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T13:26:30.374+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This is unbelievably the first meme  of my life. I never thought i would do one as I could hardly see any point in doing it. But anyways, here it is. Now once I tag you, you are required to post your pictures that fit the captions I've put down. And if you can't find any, invent your own!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture of me and my babies...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six98oZewCI/AAAAAAAABK4/Feuqoax7dBI/s1600-h/7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six98oZewCI/AAAAAAAABK4/Feuqoax7dBI/s320/7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785338371850274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PIcture of me being close with someone....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six98voMfQI/AAAAAAAABKw/uaiiLakOd9o/s1600-h/6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six98voMfQI/AAAAAAAABKw/uaiiLakOd9o/s320/6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785340312616194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture of me flirting with married women&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six900LfkSI/AAAAAAAABKo/dwKLTVjtydE/s1600-h/5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six900LfkSI/AAAAAAAABKo/dwKLTVjtydE/s320/5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785204095455522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PIcture of me trying to fart and burp at the same time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six90zirYvI/AAAAAAAABKg/xwS7wDphtBY/s1600-h/4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six90zirYvI/AAAAAAAABKg/xwS7wDphtBY/s320/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785203924263666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PIcture of me looking like a hobo brushing his teeth at McD...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qMp00iI/AAAAAAAABKQ/Ma1xiROo4Fk/s1600-h/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qMp00iI/AAAAAAAABKQ/Ma1xiROo4Fk/s320/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785021686567458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture of me, shocked...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qPaSZ-I/AAAAAAAABKI/wOJS8K4HjBQ/s1600-h/1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qPaSZ-I/AAAAAAAABKI/wOJS8K4HjBQ/s320/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785022426703842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Picture of me doing something forbidden...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qcBawfI/AAAAAAAABKY/HBpLcjk8lLg/s1600-h/3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six9qcBawfI/AAAAAAAABKY/HBpLcjk8lLg/s320/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344785025812054514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha. I hereby taggeth Abel, Lionel, Adrian, Kyle, Stella, Chulan and Josther!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7627181583480719261?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7627181583480719261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7627181583480719261&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7627181583480719261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7627181583480719261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/06/this-is-unbelievably-first-meme-of-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Six98oZewCI/AAAAAAAABK4/Feuqoax7dBI/s72-c/7.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3316768973443933056</id><published>2009-05-10T00:38:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T00:42:21.727+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mothers' Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3QitzqXZq6w&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3QitzqXZq6w&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0x3a3a3a&amp;color2=0x999999&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was watching this at church and I thought it great to share with you guys. Its so funny i nearly lapsed into convulsion. haha Enjoy. And by the way, happy mothers' day. You have persevered much and you deserve our salutation. =D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3316768973443933056?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3316768973443933056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3316768973443933056&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3316768973443933056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3316768973443933056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mothers&apos; Day'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7809003610244192314</id><published>2009-05-03T01:57:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T22:02:06.114+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Testimony</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf71JrQghhI/AAAAAAAABKA/1sx6trz-NE8/s1600-h/Happy_Man_On_Cell_Phone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf71JrQghhI/AAAAAAAABKA/1sx6trz-NE8/s200/Happy_Man_On_Cell_Phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331968555432838674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,  who  have been called according to his purpose... Romans 8:28&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that my phone is lost for a reason. But this one thing I ask. That He gives me the peace to deal with it. The peace not to worry. To have a clear mind. To have joy deep deep in my heart. Thats all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I picked up the phone to call my celly numerous times, there was no dialing tone. Whoever who picked up my phone, he must have switched it off and throw my sim card carelessly into the air. And if he does that, I thank him. at least I have the peace knowing that he did not just transferred RM 100 of my credit balance into his personal phone. Hahaha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said earlier, it was my birthday and hence i reloaded RM 100 and get 50 bucks bonus. And to see it all gone, is a big heart ache for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why I needed the peace I need. I was going to go to church and the worst feeling to have is to worry over some over uncontrolable event and not being able to focus on God. It simply defeats the very purpose of going to Church. I want God to set me free to worship Him and leave my worries assunder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I pushed myself to worship, I sensed a new kind of freedom. I can smile throughout the worship. I can truly say that He still loves me. And the phone is lost for a purpose. As I worship, He started to speak. He asked if I knew that the phone may [in the event picked up by a homeless poor] would buy him food for sustenance, may sustain a family whose father is unemployed in this economic crisis and at the same time, having to feed so many hungry mouths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf71JVa-m3I/AAAAAAAABJ4/nmBeqcyOzY8/s1600-h/chp_cell_phone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf71JVa-m3I/AAAAAAAABJ4/nmBeqcyOzY8/s200/chp_cell_phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331968549571173234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart was screaming. If you can make good with my not-so-techy tacky phone, please use it. It is my joy, and my delight to see someone's tummy well fed because of my phone. Its old yes. But if it can feed the hungry, its awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A testimony never has to be about my getting a string of straight Distinctions, or how I met my spouse, or how I narrowly escaped death. No doubt they are good testimonies and are evidences of God's work. But this is better. Its a testimony of pain, sorrow, lost and finding joy again amidst all those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When people tell me that since they become Christians, their economy improve, wealth starts pouring in. Everyone's fat and healthy. Well, praise God. But get this right. There is an equal possibility of a Christian suffering from cancer, accidents, pain, loss, sorrow, etc etc. But what really changes, is you and me and how we look at our problems. I hope this changes your perspective on your daily life as well. God still loves you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7809003610244192314?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7809003610244192314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7809003610244192314&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7809003610244192314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7809003610244192314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/05/testimony.html' title='Testimony'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf71JrQghhI/AAAAAAAABKA/1sx6trz-NE8/s72-c/Happy_Man_On_Cell_Phone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7659085204649284598</id><published>2009-05-03T00:58:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T21:56:06.017+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My lost phone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf7z5GCV8HI/AAAAAAAABJw/GhWV2Wq12ZQ/s1600-h/paul_leicester.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 118px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf7z5GCV8HI/AAAAAAAABJw/GhWV2Wq12ZQ/s200/paul_leicester.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331967171051778162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I never have made known this incident to you, it would have rendered God's grace injustice. Call it coincidence, call it what you may, but I know it's divine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody really knows that i am truly a sentimental person at heart, not even my closest friends. I collect memorabilia from every eventful events in my life. Letters from a special someone. Pictures. Box of the chocolate someone gave to me upon return from Japan. Book from a long gone missionary. And most notoriously of all, SMSes. Haha. I keep SMS. And that should freak you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;In case you ever said something nasty to me, I'll record it against you. Haha. I'm joking by the way. Hurtful SMSes should remain out of the window, uninvited at the first place. So i never hesitate to delete them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there's this group of SMSes which I keep. They used to be my source of comfort. They tell me that I am loved, I am precious, I am a man I believe I would want to be. But having said that, they are now a by product of the long gone past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its a proximately a year now. A year after I weep like nobody's business, trying to push away issues of abandonment. And God knows that stale SMSes doeth the soul no good. Probably just to complement the new changes in my life, the SMSes need to go out of the window as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think He knew better that given a chance to wash it all off my cellphone, I would never do it. And that was why [at least as how I would interpret it] my phone needs to disappear today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, maybe i dun have to think so deep after all. After all, it may be my recklessness and negligence that operated on me. There's a possibility that my carelessness is the factor. I'm not eliminating these probabilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are reasons for everything under the sun. There is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost my cell phone. I am very angry at how careless i am. I am anxious to death. But that only proves how human i am, and ultimately points to my lack of faith. I know that i am loved by God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him,  who  have been called according to his purpose... Romans 8:28&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7659085204649284598?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7659085204649284598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7659085204649284598&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7659085204649284598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7659085204649284598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-lost-phone.html' title='My lost phone'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Sf7z5GCV8HI/AAAAAAAABJw/GhWV2Wq12ZQ/s72-c/paul_leicester.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6906098359361258756</id><published>2009-04-28T00:09:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T00:34:28.938+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SfXeglX45II/AAAAAAAABJo/uKMDHnDZClw/s1600-h/HappyBirthday62.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SfXeglX45II/AAAAAAAABJo/uKMDHnDZClw/s320/HappyBirthday62.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329410385432339586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had just celebrated mine. Birthdays to me are a little bit overrated, just as i had narrated to Stella. I saw people with elegant and elaborate birthday parties at their tender teenage years. They get the most unimaginable gifts you and me would not dare to contemplate. Some got an apartment unit, another got a car. etc etc. Yes, I would agree that amongst us, lies the less financially established friends and the mere thought of celebrating their birthday is so distant with other issues to take priority ie. studies, getting family out of debt, already helping to serve the bread for dinner. You get what I mean. But its always a human tendency, to compare ourselves with the more fortunate and envy them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought i would do it differently this year. Set a lower expectation. Not telling people explicitly to hold a party for me. And returns are telling me that I am a happier man at the end of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't expect something fancy. It never works. My 17th birthday was a wreck. Chicken pox couldn't have chosen a better time. What a great time spending my birthday with friends keeping a mile's length away from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 19th birthday was not so good. I thought it would be different. I thought in my heart of hearts, the apple of my eye would give me a surprise. Little did I know, he was oblivious to it. Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this year was kick ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've got a red packet from a Xian-Na with such unexpectable amount of cash! gasp. and a slice of French Crepe Cheese Cake to  top it up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've got a slice of cheesecake and a capo from Jolene!!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've got a slice of cheesecake again from Sarah and Alice!!!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've got 3 scoops of Haagen Daz from my July friends!!!!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I've got a COMPACT BIBLE [i've secretly wanted] from Stella, Jecelyn and Joanne!!!!!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;and i feel like screaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was no expensive gift, no elaborate party, just friends and surprises. And i must say, it was sufficient to carve the smile. Simply because i didn't expect them in the first place. And I'm glad i didn't. God is good. Thank you, friends, for making my day!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6906098359361258756?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6906098359361258756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6906098359361258756&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6906098359361258756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6906098359361258756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/04/birthday.html' title='Birthday'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SfXeglX45II/AAAAAAAABJo/uKMDHnDZClw/s72-c/HappyBirthday62.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5563234629513584053</id><published>2009-04-22T21:29:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T21:47:16.145+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Church</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se8f10H8UAI/AAAAAAAABJg/lXMA8DhvRMY/s1600-h/kneeling.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 195px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se8f10H8UAI/AAAAAAAABJg/lXMA8DhvRMY/s200/kneeling.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327511893588070402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’ve been church hopping lately. It was originally cicumstanciary but that has changed now. I thought, initially, that my classes would clash with my church service time.. But it turns out to be that there has been some unprecedented changes made by the administration. Well and good. I thought I would go back to my local church. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Mind is a powerful persuadent. I am out. Might as well explore. Things really change when I was away.. There are simply too many drastic changes, I fear I might not even recognise it when I return. What seemed like a good break eventually turned out to be a valid reason for church hunting. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;When asked, how was my stint serving at my local church previously, I would reply that it has been great. Awesome and great. I did enjoy service.. I did enjoy serving in children’s ministry. I enjoy the simplicity of faith and how I am reminded of the little facts of faith that makes a world of a difference. I enjoy serving under certain unnamed people who really spoke to me like I am their peer. A fellow man!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;But we all know. Brushing of shoulders are inevitable. But I do also realise that it’s a painful stay. I can sit amongst hundreds of people and still feel lonely. While I sought counselling, I was often suppressed into thinking what a fool I am for being in such self-induced decadent state. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I thought to myself certain friends of mine who freak out upon the thought of me leaving the church. Have I turned my back against Christ, become a condemned apostate? Never. I am aware that as long as I regularly attend church in obedience to the call of service and fellowship in faith, I am obeying Christ. And that makes me a Christian.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My friends. Yes you. I know you have been worried of my absence. That shows that you cared for me and my spiritual health. I thank you for that. [And if a certain Tom, Dick or Sally, aren’t concerned of my absence, don’t alert me on your ignorance. Its best left in the dark]. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My allegiance, both spiritual and political lies ultimately with no church, no rockets nor scales, no evangelical institution, nor any heretical baptist constitution. But solely on Christ who had me on His mind on the way to Calvary. Jesus is my constitution. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5563234629513584053?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5563234629513584053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5563234629513584053&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5563234629513584053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5563234629513584053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/04/playing-church.html' title='Playing Church'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se8f10H8UAI/AAAAAAAABJg/lXMA8DhvRMY/s72-c/kneeling.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-888938989869984161</id><published>2009-04-21T22:22:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T22:44:51.040+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Joy and Peace</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se3bje4yMNI/AAAAAAAABJY/LNkv66Y9_fw/s1600-h/KL087%7EJoy-Peace-Love-Posters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se3bje4yMNI/AAAAAAAABJY/LNkv66Y9_fw/s320/KL087%7EJoy-Peace-Love-Posters.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327155336882303186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looks like its been close to a couple of months that i last updated my blog. life has truly changed in that matter of few weeks. I've called elsewhere home, I'm closer to finding my identity, I'm on my way to finding joy in life [despite being a staunch pessimist]. and etc etc. But take comfort, i won't blurt all out in a single post. you might just not last till the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today as i woke up, i prayed that i would make full use of my day, and asked God if he would help me do that. I am glad i asked him to help maximise my day for him!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing was exceptionally special. But I guess its all about how your eyes are opened to see the lesser known things. I went to class. Still abused by girls with their plastic rulers. But i remember there being little things that made me smile today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Me and Ben gathered and prayed like it was revival though it was only both of us, and all others were absent. I am glad to have still faithfully did what i done, even if its only a couple of people.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I was seen carrying my guitar and was requested to play a few songs by my friends. I figured, i'd never want to show off [considering also that i have none to show off], I went ahead and played a simple hymn to a couple of non christians. Nothing fanciful, but i guess that was how I have honoured God, even by ministering to them. Little things that glorifies God. That made me smile too.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Oh, i've got a gift from Kean Mui. She's not rich, yet she went her way out just to get me a gift. Again, its not fanciful, but I know it was from her study loan, and that made the gift oh so valuable.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;That's my day. I can walk up and smile, coz I have the joy and peace of God. Its not something you learn off some John Piper book or some Henry Blackaby, but its by the power of God.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-888938989869984161?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/888938989869984161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=888938989869984161&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/888938989869984161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/888938989869984161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/04/of-joy-and-peace.html' title='Of Joy and Peace'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/Se3bje4yMNI/AAAAAAAABJY/LNkv66Y9_fw/s72-c/KL087%7EJoy-Peace-Love-Posters.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8860619269722274581</id><published>2009-02-20T01:05:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-02-20T03:33:45.462+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time</title><content type='html'>Time is so important that without it, we probably be stuck in eternity. you know what's eternity like? Its like picking a grain of sand, mark it with a small dot, throw it onto the beach, and sift through the sandy beaches to find it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I revised my work in the early hours of the silent morning, I noticed how much i've grown into another person. If I were to have two alexs meet. One from this present moment, another from this time around last year. They would not have know each other, too shocked to even recognise that both are the same entity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I needed a certain parson. I needed a certain companion. But today its all so different. I do need a certain person, but my heart is already callous. I am here today, realised that there is more to be occupied with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I dealt with my hurt and game of hide and seek last year, I remembered being chastised for being dependant, needy, immature. I thought not. I wrestled with that argument. But today, I thought to myself. Hey, all I needed was some time to adjust and grow up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You there. You need time. You need time to fully expand. Growth cannot be sped up with some alien foreign device. Its an anomaly once you try to temper with your own growth. I do all I can today to grow. Everyday. Time will come when I shine. Time will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8860619269722274581?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8860619269722274581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8860619269722274581&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8860619269722274581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8860619269722274581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/time.html' title='Time'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7951039321236313949</id><published>2009-02-15T22:53:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T23:04:37.822+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bitter</title><content type='html'>As little children, we love only sweets. Lollipops, sugus, chewies, gummies. Anything that is harmful to our teeth. Anything sweet will do. Ain't no mountain high and low. You can't keep sweets from us. It has to run in our blood. But I noticed that as i grow older, what i previously hate as a child, becomes somewhat my comfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When i was little, i would spat it out everytime my mother tried to feed me bittergourd or even certain greens. Mustards are hard on me when they are bitter at times. My mom always had a tough time when I am down and she needed me to drink my Chinese medicinal soup, known only by its bitter taste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my reception towards the taste of bitter, has been very laxed as of the present moment. It occurred over the years as I begin to be more receptive over bitter food and i realised presently how disturbing it is that i found comfort in bitter food. Coffee without sugar. Bitter chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then i thought to myself. When we were barely half a metre tall, we think our life is sweet and dear, I wished it would be ever sweet and pleasant as well. But life has proven over time that thatis not the case. Life is bitter, and we should learn to live with it, and be reconciled it. after all life isn't a bed of roses is it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7951039321236313949?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7951039321236313949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7951039321236313949&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7951039321236313949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7951039321236313949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/bitter.html' title='Bitter'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5030170672837951076</id><published>2009-02-12T22:52:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T22:52:08.968+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Moonbabies.</title><content type='html'>I will not blog about anything substantive till I recover from my exam blues. Of which, it will not be possible until May is over. Till then, listen to my weird, chaste, virginal fantasies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's this group of moonbabies. They look as ugly as the opposite of your mother [see? I am assuming that your mother is pretty]. Short, stouct with evil green grin across their moonlike-face and constantly ever drooling with thick saliva. Their green nails are made of smelly cheese as a result of centuries of digging the cheesy moon surface with their nails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I forgotten to tell you that they live on Moon and their only activity apart from endless futile digging-for-nothing toil on the Moon, is to descend onto Earth. Every open book at night is a portal to which they access Earth. From there, they commit every felony their mischievous minds would allow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their favourite of the many, is to annoy students who revise and bury their faces at books at night. They pop out from books, try to pull the hair of the victimised students, psyche the students up into a panicky temperament, and cause them frustration by disabling their memory, reasoning  and mental faculty to function as they should.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am very peace loving. I eat my broccoli, and make sure i don't breathe so often coz I dun want to kill those microorganisms by inhaling them into my system. Therefore, i offered them a treay. So lucrative, they will not refuse. But it was futile. They derive pleasure at frustrating my study sessions. I will kill them!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My hunky friend, Adrian [though not as hunky as I am], suggested that we annihilate these monsterous little devils. I agree. But we students are now rather defeated. What can we do? They are constantly nuking us students.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I propose that we send a troop of highly sexual nudies. They nuke, we nude! They can drool to their death at our hotness. Deceive them to the point of them nuking their own base. That is settled. They shall salivate heavily at our nudies to their atomic death.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5030170672837951076?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5030170672837951076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5030170672837951076&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5030170672837951076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5030170672837951076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/02/moonbabies.html' title='Moonbabies.'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4693581830066809105</id><published>2009-01-12T00:06:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T00:57:31.205+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Changing the way you think</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWofYHamPlI/AAAAAAAABH8/cl9rmVj9pVE/s1600-h/mim.htm"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWofYHamPlI/AAAAAAAABH8/cl9rmVj9pVE/s320/mim.htm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290075211467996754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I get very irritated with the on going news these days. News no longer became sources of neutral reports. Just when I thought that it will cease, it seems more likely that the climax is still far away. In other words, there is more to come. What am I talking about? The Gaza Emergency, and the news reporting.&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;TV3, national television channel of Malaysia should be applauded for their lowly and base methods of trying to move the hearts of simpletons. This evening, they screened a video shot on the chaos in Gaza, of women wailing, bombs blasting, and entrails falling off, and all the other crude things you will never think of, COMPLETE WITH A SAD, SAD MELODY.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;If this was not enough, I've got quite a number of emails forwarded to my inbox, showing the atrocities of the violence at Gaza strip. Before I proceed, allow me to make myself clear. I am in no way advocating war. I am not a proponent of Israel's excessive use of force. However, this time, I want to stand by Israel and to open your squinty eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/j61ktUeDDuo&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/j61ktUeDDuo&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Of all the violence in Gaza, I would say what Israel did was justified.  Israel has been putting up with the same old terrorist crap for more than 2 years, and still the rest of the world sides with the Mumbai massacre mentality gang.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Don't go around blowing the trumpet saying Israeli soldiers did a fanciful, drunken masacre in Gaza because if the Imperialistic Zionists are so evil, then why is it that their carefully targeted air strikes have a kill count of &lt;a href="http://www.yourish.com/2008/12/27/5830"&gt;94% terrorists&lt;/a&gt; so far? That's only 6% civilian casualties. Perhaps you could do better by having 100% accuracy?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWocn-_oE3I/AAAAAAAABHs/5xM73lPxsQI/s1600-h/gazahamasmap.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 220px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWocn-_oE3I/AAAAAAAABHs/5xM73lPxsQI/s320/gazahamasmap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290072185550410610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The map was confiscated by the Israeli forces,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;indicating the weapons planted by Hamas in&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;variious public places to incur higher number of civillian casualties.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;Have you considered these?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The fact that Israel have long been tolerating Hamas' projectiles including Qassam rockets and mortar fire plummeting into your friendly neighbourhood? &lt;a href="http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1050359.html"&gt;Here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That if Israel does not retaliate, they will be overwhelmed by her friendly Arabian neighbours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That only Hamas operative structures are the targeted areas? &lt;a href="http://www.israellycool.com/2008/12/27/israel-strikes-back/"&gt;Here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That the rest of the injured civilians are hurt by Hamas' own bombs planted in various places ie. the mosque, marketplace. &lt;a href="http://idfspokesperson.com/2009/01/09/captured-hamas-intelligence-9-jan-2009-1626-ist/"&gt;Here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That in the summer of 2005, Israel evacuated the whole of Gaza strip for Palestinians for the sake of  improving relationships and mutual peace, Hamas, unceasingly continued to terrorize Israelites from the very land, Israel gave them – Gaza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That Hamas continually smuggles in weapons from Iran and Hezbollah for continuous blast of rockets.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;That &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hamas"&gt;Hamas&lt;/a&gt; actually got into power, by terrorizing its own people and first violently eliminating their fellow Palestinian opponents, the Fatahs.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaNVPaOTI/AAAAAAAABHk/Tmw4Xz3gyeo/s1600-h/gazaamusmentpark.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaNVPaOTI/AAAAAAAABHk/Tmw4Xz3gyeo/s320/gazaamusmentpark.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290069528642468146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Look, Palestinian fairground!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;The list never ends really. And when the television broadcasts online donations, I will tell you where your money went to. When they tell you that the people of Palestine are poor, dying of hunger, I'll prove it that it is a lie. The Hamas government is not poor. Look, they can afford to feed the poor. 3000 rockets fired into Israeli territory before the Gaza Emergency, will prove it. 3000 rockets a year is a luxury for a state persecuted to famine by the Zionist embargo. &lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWocoA4b5GI/AAAAAAAABH0/-W8oxZ7uPUo/s1600-h/qassamrocketsgazagraph.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWocoA4b5GI/AAAAAAAABH0/-W8oxZ7uPUo/s320/qassamrocketsgazagraph.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290072186057122914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All your charitable donations to Palestine goes directly into Hamas' rocket funds. Congratulations, you have helped them extend the war.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;We all know that Hamas and Israel struck a 6-month cease-fire agreement – at least you now know. And it was Hamas who first breached the agreement by sending rockets and projectiles into Israeli territory. You telling me Israel is guilty for retaliation? I tell you no state is so daft/obtuse/lax/complacent as to allow its citizens to be continually terrorized.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaMIQa3EI/AAAAAAAABHc/YKallKBZkB0/s1600-h/hezbrockets.gif"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaNVPaOTI/AAAAAAAABHk/Tmw4Xz3gyeo/s1600-h/gazaamusmentpark.jpg"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaMIQa3EI/AAAAAAAABHc/YKallKBZkB0/s1600-h/hezbrockets.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWoaMIQa3EI/AAAAAAAABHc/YKallKBZkB0/s320/hezbrockets.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290069507977174082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Saying that Israeli initiated all these confrontations, is untrue. Israel is so small, that every family has a member or two in the Israeli Armed Forces. Therefore every death is painful and traumatic. Hamas on the other hand, employs their tactic of jihad, promising lewd illusions of a decadent eternity with 70 virgins. Death is victory. For the Israelis, Life is precious. What is better than to extinguish Life with Death? Who is more likely to initiate armed confrontations?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;While on combat, the Hamas fighters would deploy their civilians human shield. Wow, is that shocking or what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When you look at injured civilians, have you ever had in mind that Hamas was manipulating its own population to cry foul over international news broadcast? I am not surprised. Hamas would do everything in its capacity to wipe Israel off by 2027 as said by the late Hamas co-founder, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmed_Yassin"&gt;Sheik Ahmed Yassin&lt;/a&gt; in 1999.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And you thought that every Palestinians supported the Hamas movement?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://mypetjawa.mu.nu/archives/195732.php"&gt;This mother in Gaza&lt;/a&gt; shouting "May God exterminate Hamas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This girl who lost her whole family blamed Hamas. &lt;strong&gt;"I say, Hamas is the cause, in the first place, of all wars."&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And to top it all off, 60% Gazans louded the same cry!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Time to change your mind, people.&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fLIdxF-GHWw&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fLIdxF-GHWw&amp;amp;color1=0xb1b1b1&amp;amp;color2=0xcfcfcf&amp;amp;feature=player_embedded&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4693581830066809105?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4693581830066809105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4693581830066809105&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4693581830066809105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4693581830066809105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/changing-way-you-think.html' title='Changing the way you think'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWofYHamPlI/AAAAAAAABH8/cl9rmVj9pVE/s72-c/mim.htm' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1257946629102905603</id><published>2009-01-03T00:59:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T00:18:20.038+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why? Because I Am A Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;There are many options laid before me. We both have options. You can have foe grais if you please, and if I'm in the mood, I can have the humble curry and rice. Options are non exhaustive. But am I to take the best options available? What constitutes the best option? Should it be about my pleasure, adventure and living out my wild fantasies? Or is there more to life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;My friends, as you would have known by now, are in KL. City of shimmering lights and sleepless nights. May they have eternal sunshine there. Of course this post again, is about me. If you are studying abroad, and you are happy financially, good for you. Its your finances anyway and I do not intend to sway your opinions if you have made up your mind to study [blah blah blah *fill in the blanks*].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Who is without dreams? I am not without them. In fact I am so full of them I sometimes feel low for being incapable of living them out. What are they like?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I wanted to pursue Political Science at the States.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I want to enrol in a Liberal Arts university.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;On a second option, I want to go to HELP for a LLB twinning program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I want to have a campus life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I want to feel what it is like to study abroad and away from the comforts of home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I wanted to get out of home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Easier wished than done. There are so many other factors to be taken into consideration.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul style="margin-left: 38pt;"&gt;&lt;li&gt;Would it be economically wise since recession is in the air for some time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Would the money I earn cover the expenses I made in my tertiary studies?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Would it be justiceable to my mother to rob her of her security in her retirement days?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;  People might just call me sour grapes. Simply because I don't get to pursue my dreams to a college/university far from home. Well, to some extend, I confess I am. I am honest to admit that I can't help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But I need to come into terms of acknowledging that different people have different dreams and they are called to different areas in life which are not meant for me. It would be wrong of me to impose what I believe on others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I tried to find my reasons for enrolling in a University of London program in Law. I find none, save the fact that I've exhausted every other practical options and that's probably the way God employed to make me bend my ambitions to make way for His plans. I am still struggling to settle down to a UOL program. Definitely not something I fancy. But nonetheless, most practical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Recession is bound to hit. Am I prepared to even give my parents sleepless nights thinking about my future tuition fee payment? Am I prepared to even face the sleepless nights knowing that my mother worked her youth away for my future? I would pronounce all of them, negative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Would the money I earn in future cover all the expenses incurred in my tertiary studies? I dare not be so sure. Studying overseas cannot be cheap. Besides, when I finally graduate, my certificate from the University of London is worth the same as any from University of Cardiff/BlahBlah/NyakNyak/Aberystwyth. If not, more. Consider the amount of stress we UOL students have to endure. That counts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It doesn't matter if someone's got "the legal practical edge" because we will all need to return and do our pupilege and some nasty Certificate of Legal Practice. It's all back to square one. But am I prepared to pay 100K extra just to enjoy campus life and life abroad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Would it be justiceable for my mother to lose her financial security for the sake of my enjoyment? Sure my mom exhorted me to go get some HELP. She believed that some practical skills would confer much benefit to me. I believe even so, at this very moment. She said she would fund me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Sometimes I just cannot be blamed for being a party popper. When people head off to party and club, I don't join in. I rather spend my money on a heart to heart individual talk over a good dinner in a serene setting. Heck, I would spend it with Brandon ANYTIME. But these hardly come by. Invitations to clubs are often brushed aside nonchalantly. Not that I don't care. But I love my mom. She doesn't need to spend another hour working off her Sundays so we could see ourselves through for the next few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I would be a bastard to cause my mom such heartache. Condemned ingrate, fiery ice hole shooting murky waters. I'll be a BASTARD of GALACTICAL PROPORTIONS. To rob my poor mom like that. I know my family's financial status. I will not attempt to stretch it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I could never bring myself to do that. Alex, you wanna go abroad? Get yourself a scholarship. Otherwise, suck up and be a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Listen, I don't care even if my father calls me effeminate. Because it takes a man to give up what he wants to protect the interest of his loved ones. Sure I might not be a male. But I'm a man and I don't even need my father to affirm it.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1257946629102905603?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1257946629102905603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1257946629102905603&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1257946629102905603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1257946629102905603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-because-i-am-man.html' title='Why? Because I Am A Man'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4548117664352705866</id><published>2009-01-02T22:22:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T22:58:39.685+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Like A Prayer</title><content type='html'>&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am still praying. Hope is not so distant and fragile that it cannot extend its hands to me. Today I had a talk with a fellow man. Brandon. Perfect time it was. Just when I needed it. Amidst the gloomy new year, I have found Christ again. My first love, redeemed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Just when I thought everything was bleak and dark. Just when I thought I would lose grip of Christ. I came to my senses that Jesus didn't hang on the cross like some freak show model. He hung so I could live a life in its fullest. He died so I could live to tell His tale. He died so I would have more to live for, than just some worthless people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This is no indication that I am a totally healed person. Despite the dark days I'll have to endure, the clouds and mist of confusion I have to waddle through. It goes on to demonstrate that I have just returned to become who I should be. Jesus' redeemed. I am His and He is mine. Help me to know Your abounding grace. Grace so fragrant I don't need to turn elsewhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When I last prayed, I prayed You would lead me back to you. You did not dishonour my request. I am still praying. Hope is not so distant and fragile that it cannot extend its hands to me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4548117664352705866?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4548117664352705866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4548117664352705866&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4548117664352705866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4548117664352705866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/like-prayer.html' title='Like A Prayer'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2509845686024026132</id><published>2009-01-01T23:40:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T23:41:53.540+08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span xmlns=""&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;New Year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It gives you an idea of everything new. A fresh start all over again. A new beginning. A new everything. But I doubt if it is really so. I hate being so dubious. I hate being sceptical, but I just can't help it. But I got to know, that this is an indivorceable side of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;Sure I've got sufficient reasons to say why it won't be a new beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Symbol;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;Perceptions people have on another won't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Symbol;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;The negative feelings people have against each other won't evaporate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Symbol;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;The bad relationships that don't get resolved, gets carried into the new year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;I find myself so very often importing my nightmares into the new year. I am learning this year to let go of all my luggage. I need a fresh start. I need to breathe in a new environment. I want to walk in, a new person. I want to walk into a new environment. I want to walk with head held high, knowing I have the power and potential to move mountains and not the susceptibility to be crushed by them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;em&gt;Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;em&gt;2 Corinthians 5:17&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2509845686024026132?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2509845686024026132/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2509845686024026132&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2509845686024026132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2509845686024026132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year.html' title=''/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1366004924178209644</id><published>2008-12-28T16:45:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T18:09:13.277+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmastime Is Here</title><content type='html'>You know what? The past few days are so hectic and busy I barely have the time to post! Well, in a way being busy has kept me occupied, but really tired as well. You would have known by now that I don't really fancy having a Christmas celebration. everybody becomes so occupied with their own families and the lonely feeling naturally sets in. I really can't help it. its not like I could hold up a 'HALT' sign and command the feeling of loneliness to go in the other direction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't really wise of me to occupy myself to the brink of causing myself the exhaustion.  I should have just relaxed and do things in a leisurely manner. Sure, i believed that after working hard, I should play hard as well. But as you see later, I obviously haven't been playing hard but 'ploughing' instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should have spent more time with Jesus. That's my regret. I felt like I should have gone out on more emo coffee dates. Pretend like I am all grown up, past my mid-life crisis, indulging in a pensieve mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha... wishful thinking&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exams ended on the 19th of December. There my holidays begin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20th Dec.&lt;br /&gt;Made eggnog and sent it to Tim. Run an errand for mom. Run to church for children's ministry practice. Drove to Melissa Wong's house. Went shoppin at Gurney. Bought myself a shirt. Attended a mass at Immaculate Conception with Melissa and Brandon. Rush over to Vincent's house to play guitar for carolling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21st Dec&lt;br /&gt;Attended church. Went home straight. Slept through the evening. Woke up to some chores and last minute shopping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22nd Dec&lt;br /&gt;Stayed at home, made culinary notes. Wrote Christmas letters to my friends. Went to baking supplies shop. Prepared dough for gingerbread men&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23rd Dec&lt;br /&gt;Taught tuition classes in the morning. Went home to get the dough to bake at church. Made a couple of return homes as your forgetful me forgotten that he left his dough at the home fridge after having arrived at church. Baked all the way till late evening. a total weight of 7 kg gingerbread army. Went home feeling tired and defeated by the strenuous exercise of roll, cut, transfer, bake. However, to my own amazement I started baking chocolate mint brownies instead and made 1.5 litres of eggnog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24th Dec&lt;br /&gt;Taught a tuition class. Went over to church to prepare sandwiches for refreshments after Christmas Eve Service. Quickly rush over to Gurney for some last minute souvenier shopping. Bought myself 3 stained glass candle holders. I am so proud of myself. Though it was expensive, I thought to myself that I deserve some rewarding as well. Bumped in Ben Chwee. Went to the supermarket before heading home to prepare gifts for my friends. I never knew Alex was so capable of fast action. Had to seriously rush to church with minimal time left. Reached church within 10 minutes despite the traffic. Gave myself a tap on the shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had some practices and later performed in the choir. Adjourned down to set up the tables. The church sanctuary was packed to the brim I could barely breathe. We had fun carolling by the candlelights under the open night sky. As everyone dig into the legions of gingy boys, I felt a surge of humble pride. Humbled that I was given the opportunity to bake. Proud that everyone present was talking to each other, having fellowship with a piece of gingerbread man in their hands. This is the highest form of satisfaction I could ever receive in my baking experience. It dawned upon me that it was by God's strength that I manage to pull through the ordeal of having to bake a mountain of dough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Church ended and headed to McD with a couple of friends. Retire home at 2 in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25th Dec&lt;br /&gt;Woke up at 10. Started on my work. Did not stop till the end. Had a great time with Melissa Wong and Brandon as we went to the beach at night and by the poolside. Enjoyed Christmas carols and great food, top it all up with great company. God held back the rain. We really had great fun. Retired at 3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26th and 27th Dec&lt;br /&gt;I am still working. lol    &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Points to note during this Yuletide season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Traffic jams becomes a norm. Avoid driving&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Beware of people [strangers] who are shameless. Prepare when they ask for gifts.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Always keep my presents tight to myself. I lost a few as I left the on a cupboard. guess it was too beautiful, some people couldn't help themselves but to slip it into their pockets.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Friends who are willing to spend Christmas with you are most likely to stick with you through stormier weathers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1366004924178209644?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1366004924178209644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1366004924178209644&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1366004924178209644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1366004924178209644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmastime-is-here.html' title='Christmastime Is Here'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3213574616125891089</id><published>2008-12-22T18:33:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T21:03:49.221+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Decline of Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-E_NDVdUI/AAAAAAAABGE/gtqctlEIqoM/s1600-h/A3_birth_of_a_hero.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-E_NDVdUI/AAAAAAAABGE/gtqctlEIqoM/s320/A3_birth_of_a_hero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282587109299156290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, people take the word 'Christmas' for granted. And I say this is done to a very alarming degree. Christmas is a celebration of Christ, the deity-hero born to save the day. Its CHRISTmas. you simply cannot avoid Jesus Christ upon the mention of Christmas can you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet we happily jumble up yuletide with Christmas. That we need to kiss beneath the mistletoe and a yule log must be burning brightly in the centre of the room. Nonono. Christmas is Christ-mas. everything else can come in and join the revelry and the merry making. but one thing is sure. They must all fail in comparison with the celebration of the Hero-King&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some statistics taken in England in 2007...&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;only 12% of the adults have detailed knowledge of the Christmas story&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;people aged 55-64 know the story best&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;only 7% of 18-24 year olds have a good grasp of the Christmas story&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;36% of churchgoers know the story well compared to 5% of atheists.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-E_aG8vTI/AAAAAAAABGM/Gybn6TksrKI/s1600-h/a4_wide.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-E_aG8vTI/AAAAAAAABGM/Gybn6TksrKI/s320/a4_wide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282587112803974450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Drinking at a pub? Indulge in revelry?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Where will you find Him?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ask at your local church.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There is a rising fear within me and many others that Christmas is moving towards secularism. Even at such times as this, we hear of the need to be 'politically correct'. The UK government went to such extend as to replace the Merry Christmas wish on greeting cards into Happy Yuletide@Season's Greetings or something to the same effect. and there are plans to change the name of Christmas on calendars into "Winterval Show" or "Winter Festival". The Christmas story had to be made known to the younger generations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-F_GZkZ5I/AAAAAAAABGc/LbOKukhpULw/s1600-h/nativity_rgb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-F_GZkZ5I/AAAAAAAABGc/LbOKukhpULw/s320/nativity_rgb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282588207024990098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The bus stop is likened to that of a stable&lt;br /&gt;of which Jesus was born. Nobody really fancies staying&lt;br /&gt;at the bus stop yet it still provides the momentary shelter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Now what better mode to promulgate and spark such interest if it is not by media? The &lt;a href="http://www.churchads.org.uk/index.html"&gt;Churches' Advertising Network&lt;/a&gt; pulled together various resources, and started on a project to spread the awareness. That Christmas is nothing without Jesus. Look at the adds!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-F-_0YKxI/AAAAAAAABGU/HzrG-jQ9Ass/s1600-h/CAN1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-F-_0YKxI/AAAAAAAABGU/HzrG-jQ9Ass/s320/CAN1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282588205258386194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;What is your heart's desire? A psp? Market's latest gadget?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;Better your salvation that the latest short term joy. Better Jesus than Santa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&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/810777374969015975-3213574616125891089?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3213574616125891089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3213574616125891089&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3213574616125891089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3213574616125891089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/decline-of-christmas.html' title='The Decline of Christmas'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU-E_NDVdUI/AAAAAAAABGE/gtqctlEIqoM/s72-c/A3_birth_of_a_hero.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4269593302425721392</id><published>2008-12-22T10:32:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T15:31:47.882+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Man Behind Christmas Revelry</title><content type='html'>This is a story of the English politics in the mid 16th century after the Parliament rose and waged war against the Royalist backing up the then king, Charles I who was later beheaded when he lost the civil war to the Parliamentarians. The void of a monarch sitting on the throne, was filled by the leader of the Parliamentry forces, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Cromwell"&gt;Oliver Cromwell&lt;/a&gt; who took the title of 'Lord Proctector' over England. Those were harsh times with strict laws and minimal freedom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The following article was taken from &lt;a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-503572/William-Winstanley-The-man-saved-Christmas-Cromwells-misery.html"&gt;Mail Online&lt;/a&gt; .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Winstanley lived four centuries ago, when Britain was in the throes of its bloody civil war - the six-year struggle for power between King Charles I and Parliament that pitted Royalist against Roundhead in bitter internecine battles.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU9BQV-2WnI/AAAAAAAABF0/aVg-EjgvpOc/s1600-h/p15winstanleyDM_228x345.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU9BQV-2WnI/AAAAAAAABF0/aVg-EjgvpOc/s200/p15winstanleyDM_228x345.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282512636963347058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;In 1644, two years into the fighting, the Puritan faction in Parliament banned Christmas. They objected to the binge-drinking and the debauchery that accompanied the traditional revelries of Christmas week. One of them noted that "more mischief is committed at that time than in all the year besides" - a sentiment with which many might agree today.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;He went on: "What eating and drinking, what feasting, and all to the great dishonour of God and the impoverishment of the realm."&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;But the Puritans did not just object to over-indulgence. They didn't like the name either. "Christ's Mass" had a ring of Roman Catholicism about it, which was anathema for Protestants. So the season was changed to "Christ tide" and any celebration confined to one day - of fasting!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Wassailing (lively and noisy festivities involving the drinking of plentiful amounts of alcohol) and wenching were out. So too was decking the halls with boughs of holly, a heathen practice.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And the ban was no idle gesture. For the "sin" of celebrating Christ's birth on December 25 in the traditional manner, a man or woman could be fined or put in the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stocks"&gt;stocks&lt;/a&gt;. No one was allowed to take a holiday. Government officers, sheriffs and justices of the peace forced markets and shops to open and business to carry on as usual.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Anyone holding or attending a special Christmas church service faced penalties. In London, soldiers patrolled the streets and seized any food they suspected of being stored for illicit festive purposes.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;And when the war was over, with King Charles beheaded and Oliver Cromwell triumphant, the injunction continued. For 18 barren years Britain was officially a country without Christmas.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;However, in secret the festivities went on. And one of those who refused to cease being merry at this time of year was an Essex farmer's son - diarist and writer William Winstanley.The family held its clandestine carol services. Their home became open house for visitors who knew their secret.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;These were dangerous times, and Republican England under its Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell - a military dictator by any other name - was a sinister place of suspicion and discontent. Spies and informers were everywhere, the knock of a chain-mailed fist on the door a real threat.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Winstanley's willingness to risk life and liberty to celebrate Christmas was not because of bacchanalian desires. He was an educated man, an amateur historian, a lover of folklore and of literature, and, though a Royalist in his political leanings, he was as pious as any Puritan.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;It was just that, as Alison Barnes writes:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; "He believed it was the duty of all Christians to celebrate the birth of their Saviour, with joyous festivity and open-handed generosity towards friends, relations and mor&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;e especially the poor." And he would not stop doing so for all the &lt;a href="http://www.google.com.my/search?q=define%3A+promulgation&amp;amp;ie=utf-8&amp;amp;oe=utf-8&amp;amp;aq=t&amp;amp;rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&amp;amp;client=firefox-a"&gt;promulgations&lt;/a&gt; of Parliament and the presence of soldiers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In 1658, Cromwell died, to a collective sigh of relief. Two years later Charles II, the executed king's son, was back from exile. The restoration of the monarchy led to the easing of restrictions on pleasure. The anti-Christmas legislation was repealed. Good cheer returned.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;But, perhaps surprisingly, the nation did not instantly return to the traditional feasting and celebration. For most people, Christmas as a time of rejoicing had almost been forgotten in those 18 years, and there was no great groundswell to restore it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU9B4y_9s7I/AAAAAAAABF8/SFy3uNiSl-Y/s1600-h/carolsingers_468x294.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU9B4y_9s7I/AAAAAAAABF8/SFy3uNiSl-Y/s320/carolsingers_468x294.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282513331947418546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;And it is here that Winstanley becomes a hero. He was by now a well-regarded writer of poems, pamphlets and books. In these, under the pen-name of Poor Robin Goodfellow, he extolled the joys of Christmas.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;He also had friends in high places, and he lobbied these powerful lords and earls - even the King himself, who invited him to court - to set an example to their family friends and tenants by opening their houses for feasting and entertainment, "much mirth and mickle glee".&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Again, his reasons were highminded not &lt;a href="http://www.google.com.my/search?q=define%3A+licentious&amp;amp;ie=utf-8&amp;amp;oe=utf-8&amp;amp;aq=t&amp;amp;rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&amp;amp;client=firefox-a"&gt;licentious&lt;/a&gt;. Christmas was for helping the poor and destitute, and he believed celebrating it properly gave them something to look forward to as winter set in and provided fond memories to see them through to the spring.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;For 38 years until his death he kept up his stream of propaganda, instructing the nation on the festivities it had forgotten. So persistently and enthusiastically did he drum in the message that by the late 1680s Christmas had taken root again.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Holly and ivy were back. In Winstanley's ideal Christmas, there had to be roaring log fires in every room and an 'especially jolly blaze' in the hall.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;"Good, nappy [nut-brown] ale" was to be on tap, and the sideboards should groan with "chines of beef, turkeys, geese, ducks and capons", then "minc'd pies, plumb-puddings and frumenty [a sweet milky porridge seasoned with cinnamon]".&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;He wrote down all the old games to be played - "Hoodman Blind, Shoe The Wild Mare, Hunt The Slipper, Hide And Seek, and Stool-Ball" - and encouraged chess, backgammon and dice, all of which the Puritans had frowned upon.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Most important, there had to be lots of carol-singing - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and I Saw Three Ships were favourites then as now, as well as gossiping at the table and story-telling round the fire, bible tales of course, but also ghost stories.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On Christmas morning, everyone went to church for the nativity, "the most blithesome day of the year", as the Godfearing Winstanley described it. Then it was home for the first of many feasts in which "the dishes marched up piping hot and everyone fell to". Between now and Twelfth Night (January 6) there would be "foot-ball play" against other villages, skating on frozen ponds, country walks, horse rides and visits to other houses for more hospitality.&lt;/p&gt;Winstanley gave the women homemade perfume and the men quill pens he had expertly cut from feathers, while his wife Anne handed out sweets, jars of jam and slabs of dark, spicy gingerbread. The children received "drums, trumpets and books"&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4269593302425721392?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4269593302425721392/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4269593302425721392&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4269593302425721392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4269593302425721392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/man-behind-christmas-revelry.html' title='The Man Behind Christmas Revelry'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU9BQV-2WnI/AAAAAAAABF0/aVg-EjgvpOc/s72-c/p15winstanleyDM_228x345.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6344336679156531913</id><published>2008-12-21T22:37:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T02:40:25.640+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Carols</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6NApNm1PI/AAAAAAAABFs/YtBUbaQuwjA/s1600-h/carolsingers_468x294.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282314455154611442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 201px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6NApNm1PI/AAAAAAAABFs/YtBUbaQuwjA/s320/carolsingers_468x294.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know. I know. I am still alive walking, talking breathing and still kicking. I was deprived of internet for the past one month as a result of a computer breakdown. But anyway I am back baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since its near Christmas, I decided to conduct a survey. What is your favourite Christmas Carol and why? Here are the few answers I got from my peers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stephanie: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/hark_the_herald_angels_sing.htm"&gt;Hark! The Herald Angel Sing&lt;/a&gt;. Its about the celebration of the Lord's birth. Reminds us about the real meaning of Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jonathan Yeoh: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/hark_the_herald_angels_sing.htm"&gt;Hark! The Herald Angel Sing?&lt;/a&gt; Cause it's a famous song?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://gabjieying.blogspot.com/"&gt;Gabrielle&lt;/a&gt;: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/hark_the_herald_angels_sing.htm"&gt;Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.&lt;/a&gt; Nice tune. I like the gloooooooooooria part. Giving glory to God. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282314018712911346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 212px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6MnPVy_fI/AAAAAAAABFU/cvYCXbRH1rg/s320/img_large_watermarked.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joshua: &lt;a href="http://http//www.carols.org.uk/white_christmas.htm"&gt;White Christmas&lt;/a&gt; ! Cause its so happy ! I love the jazz versions of it !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jolene: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/silent_night.htm"&gt;Silent Night &lt;/a&gt;because it's very special night where Christ was born and it makes me feel calm . It's a serene, calm and gentle song that reminds me the reason for X'mas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jason: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/away_in_a_manger.htm"&gt;Away in The Manger&lt;/a&gt;. Soothing and most importantly it has Jesus in it, the true meaning of Christmas. Lately the over-secularisation of christmas worries me &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282314117236894642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6Ms-Xvq7I/AAAAAAAABFc/jxwO1kz1vZo/s320/silentnight_final.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://lovingares.blogspot.com/"&gt;Jamie&lt;/a&gt;: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/silent_night.htm"&gt;Silent Night &lt;/a&gt;because its so peaceful and tranquil, it makes me feel like a child again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Esther: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/god_rest_ye_merry_gentlemen.htm"&gt;God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.&lt;/a&gt; It's a nice song. And I can play it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amanda: er.....wait let me think. I dont remember the title. The one where Jesus died for us. That song. Something his presence. Oh yes, &lt;a href="http://http//answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20081211055352AAoUN6n"&gt;Emmanuel Has Come&lt;/a&gt;. It really touched me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I tell you who has the best answer. She nearly said 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa'. She is none other than the little Dianne. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282314224876468130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 263px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6MzPXBN6I/AAAAAAAABFk/JYfgKABtL20/s320/snow_intro431.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dianne: &lt;a href="http://www.carols.org.uk/white_christmas.htm"&gt;White Christmas&lt;/a&gt;. I dont know. I like White Christmas maybe cause when I was younger I wished Malaysia had snow. And there'll be snow all over the floor. You know how in movies and stuff you see kids playing with snow during christmas. Snowballs and snowmen and they get to wear matching christmassy sweaters and have turkey on Thanksgiving. Christmas lights outside. Real Christmas trees and SNOWWWWWWWW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha... I know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&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/810777374969015975-6344336679156531913?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6344336679156531913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6344336679156531913&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6344336679156531913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6344336679156531913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-carols.html' title='Christmas Carols'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SU6NApNm1PI/AAAAAAAABFs/YtBUbaQuwjA/s72-c/carolsingers_468x294.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8146550629080515127</id><published>2008-11-14T16:28:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T17:02:06.303+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coffee</title><content type='html'>You know what? I told someone that I dislike having coffee. Its not very true. I like having coffee dates. I enjoy sitting down to a cup of hot steamy coffee. I love sinking into the cushions and stare into the outside world as they swirl in chaotic violent motion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things have changed. I wished it didn't. I don't like my newfound freedom. I iwshed I could be brave by telling him I actually love sitting down to the brew of the day while he enjoys his frothy cappuccino. Things are inconveniently different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately. I've had coffee. With another. Not very same after all. Not at all. But all said, I did have a good time. Thanks Jamie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8146550629080515127?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8146550629080515127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8146550629080515127&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8146550629080515127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8146550629080515127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/11/coffee.html' title='Coffee'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6557334598532746149</id><published>2008-11-11T13:22:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T02:49:09.685+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Divide and Conquer</title><content type='html'>I wonder if we all recall what we really read about in our younger days at school. Flipping through the history text books, I never pay much attention to analysing the facts and details. As students, we were commanded to faithfully memorize the facts and regurgitate them in another standard form on our examination piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Malaysian education system seems to abhor students who question, analyse and think well. I totally understand. If I were the government, I would like to keep everyone stupid, daft and obtuse so I can continue ruling. Simple strategy that lasts a lifetime. That is, until external factors come to play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Globalisation is our government's greatest enemy. Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The infamous blogger RPK posts his blogs from overseas so as to avoid falling under the jurisdiction of Malaysian Cyber Law &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Anwar made comparisons of fuel prices to other countries, making Malaysian government look like a band  of nutrition-deprived tasmanian devils&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Malaysian students realised that there are better prospects out there in the world where they will be highly appreciated and valued, and yet not considered a "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pendatang asing&lt;/span&gt;" [ie. foreign immigrant]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Yours truly took Cambridge A level and was trained in the fine art of criticising every entity, living or not.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;The point I am making today is that since young, we were taught never to question the Big Brother. And that ancient rule will I breach now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember how we were taught that the colonist employed the divide and conquer rule? Segragate the races. The Chinese will remain in the urban mining cities. The Indians will stay at the rubber estates while the Malays are best kept at at what they did best, farming and fishing. Such social arrangement would prevcent us all from uniting as one force to oust the British Government.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though the days of the colonist are over. Subjugation and oppression has taken another form, and I am convinced, even a higher degree.  While we were forced to believe we live in independence, we are merely being self-conceited fools.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We believed the education is free for all. We believed we can simply purchased whatever land we can afford. We believed we have equal rights. We believed we are all equal human beings made by the perfect hands of God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believed? At least it doesn't seem so equal here in Malaysia anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Divide and conquer comes in a new packaging. It came in a form of BN. There is a black and white area over who handles the specific ethnic community and who can be in the cabinet, how many cabinet members can only come from a particular ethnic group etc etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You tell. Do you smell it?&lt;br /&gt;I know I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6557334598532746149?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6557334598532746149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6557334598532746149&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6557334598532746149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6557334598532746149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/11/divide-and-conquer.html' title='Divide and Conquer'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6830914680072563185</id><published>2008-10-31T00:47:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T01:01:04.498+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Motivation</title><content type='html'>Just when you feel like not studying, or just giving up and letting all responsibilities loose, its good to reflect on what motivations am I basing on. Its tough reading law. Many times I get distracted. I get distracted when...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I look out of the Library watch the blue sky meet the green sea.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;browse the internet and procrastinate&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;sit down with Sanjay and yak yak yak&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;counsel the librarian who is having an affair with another woman despite him having a daughter as old as I am.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;put the gold fishes at fear of their lives by toggling their rear ends with the oxygen pump&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;disturb the blur@cute@aging receptionist&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;reminise of the times I became Algernon and laughed at my Cecily&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;devise some soapy drama for script writing&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;figure out how I can bake a new style cookie for sale.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I have so much on my mind, but I wake up to find the painful reality that stands so close to me. So close that I could even barely see it. The reality is, I would better work harder than ever at my studies. I cannot risk my future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I constantly find it hard to remind myself of my reason for studying. It should be...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;God, to whom my service is due. I need to be a barrister. I need to litigate. Sounds ambitious, but I need to be the different kind of barrister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;the people whose life would be entwined with mine in the future. Lives of people who will depend on my litigation skills.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my prospective children. They will need education and love and finances. If I don't provide would I not be breaching the divine duty of which was entrusted to me?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my mother to whom I owe great debt for her amount of sacrifices. She would have been a far happier and freer person if it wasn't for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;Make it count, Alex.&lt;br /&gt;Everybody needs to be motivated to strive.&lt;br /&gt;Even I.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6830914680072563185?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6830914680072563185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6830914680072563185&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6830914680072563185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6830914680072563185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/10/motivation.html' title='Motivation'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7390969214312165859</id><published>2008-10-27T21:00:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T21:46:10.514+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stand and Speak</title><content type='html'>Out of something I read recently, I felt I ought to blog about it. I try to be short and concise this time. Question is :&lt;br /&gt;Should I feel insulted/offended being called a homosexual if I am not one?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe my answer is a firm "No". What exactly does it reflect on me as a Christian if I say I am offended? It simply implies that it is disgusting being a homosexual. It implies that homosexual is a abhorrent disease condemnable to the scorch-iest regions of Hades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My common sense tells me that if I feel that being a homosexual is degrading and abominable, I am no different than a Pharisee in Jesus' contemporary times. While He socialised with prostitutes and touched lepers, what right do I have to put myself higher than Jesus? If Jesus was more than willing to minister to them, how much mightier am I to say that prostitutes, homosexuals and HIV patients should keep a healthy distance from me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find that in order to reach out to them, I need to be comfortable having them around, and not keep them at an arm's length. That's stupid. Somehow, I believe, not by coincidence, God has allowed me to descend so low because He wants me to see things that people don't normally see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its painful. It hurts. It just breaks me. But I know I need to hang on. I know I don't want to. But quiting is not an option. I know bettter than to quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will my answer differ if someone calls me a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;faggot&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I would be offended. No one deserves such undignifying title. It simply reflects the upbringing of the accuser. So what if I really am effeminate? I know I am making changes everyday for the better and I don't need his/her label. But this is true, he/she will get a verbal lashing from me. I will not allow a fellow human being being degraded in such a manner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If Jesus was willing to die for them, who am I to say that they are unworthy of the blood of Christ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7390969214312165859?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7390969214312165859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7390969214312165859&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7390969214312165859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7390969214312165859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/10/stand-and-speak.html' title='Stand and Speak'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2686656826491133491</id><published>2008-10-20T16:54:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T12:41:40.491+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Memories.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lfx9KCfI/AAAAAAAAAzA/J8O_t_T8OGU/s1600-h/classroomR2411_468x312.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lfx9KCfI/AAAAAAAAAzA/J8O_t_T8OGU/s320/classroomR2411_468x312.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893748963871218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgl095II/AAAAAAAAAzg/Z8eE86uZNJA/s1600-h/kung+fu+chicken.gif"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;My primary school days are crazy. they are both traumatizing, sick, yet fun, and stupid. I have eccentric teachers whom I  would fear more than a Godzilla. we have teachers who would punish their pupils in the most creative ways you can ever imagine. So creative, Nebucchadnezzar would look stupid with his Hanging Gardens of Babylon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgAvrTeI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/pLoyjbuCZU0/s1600-h/article-1031436-004A3E680000044C-739_468x367.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgAvrTeI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/pLoyjbuCZU0/s320/article-1031436-004A3E680000044C-739_468x367.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893752933862882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We are a whole active lot of pupils&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Ms. Knotty Kaldeep would drag the noisy ADHD demon by the ear, all the way to the blackboard and get him to stay flat on the blackboard while drawing out his outline with two additional horns. He is to remain there within his outline forever. That is, until the lesson is over. Oh, the honour of having pasted on the wall, is given to Lawless Law. We even drew electrical currents connecting from a horn to the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Radical Rohani on two occasions made our day. She teaches the last class where people who are academically challenged were stashed away. She caught them playing with their water bottles one day, throwing up their water bottles and catching them. So she got them all, and went from class to class giving her pupils a publicity. She would announce...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Radical Rohani : I'll now introduce to you the latest subject for UPSR [grade 6 compulsory governmental examination] *the boys formed a circle at her clap, and started throwing bottles to each other and catching each others' bottles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the second occasion, she caught them doing something stupid ie. not paying attention, munching away during lessons etc etc. She took them around the school as usual. At every classroom, they would stop and do their &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;thang&lt;/span&gt;. This time, it was choral speaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Radical Rohani : I give you, the performance of the millenium...&lt;br /&gt;Pupils : "Wearestupid wearestupid wearestupid wearestupid wearestupid wearestupid..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lo0EI5OI/AAAAAAAAAzo/5cEi4UyvIj8/s1600-h/UCSI+choral+speaking+team.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lo0EI5OI/AAAAAAAAAzo/5cEi4UyvIj8/s320/UCSI+choral+speaking+team.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893904148849890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;WEARESTUPID WEARESTUPID&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;As much as we were tempted to burst into laughter, we bit our lips. She threatened to make us join her troupe if there was a single laughter amongst us aundience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there's Mr. Torpid Talib, the hyper abusive teacher. Highly acclaimed Malay Language teacher, but possesses great skill in manipulating his manpower, his pupils. He would get us to spell check his modules which were to be sent in for publication.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is well known for his ability to summon his mini gods by his impaired speech. We would try to make up what he is trying to say but sometimes its so impaired, we were convinced beyond reasonable doubt that he is summoning his ancestral spirits to bestow on him, favour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;He loathes lazy students and his voice often strikes fear into the innermost chamber of our hearts. Once [out of the countless times] Kaput Kartig, my friend, went over to the other class to crash in. So unfortunate was he that Mr. Torpid Talib was teaching then. Mr. Torpid Talib, summoning his gods in a mumbo jumbo, strike up the phoenix-claw-slaying-hidden-dragon stance, and kicked Kaput Kartig all the way across the room. Poor him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgl095II/AAAAAAAAAzg/Z8eE86uZNJA/s1600-h/kung+fu+chicken.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgl095II/AAAAAAAAAzg/Z8eE86uZNJA/s320/kung+fu+chicken.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893762888164482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Saya know Kung Fu&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember I told you I feared a teacher more than a Godzilla couple, mating? I mean why on Earth would you not fear when she has the power to inspire others to imagine you [you were then fat, ugly, unpopular, annoying and disgusting boy] in nothing other than bikini. She is Ms. Obnoxious Ong. *shakes head in disapproval*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She taught me in grade 5 but found my class so irresistable fun [coz she enjoys whipping up a mob to condemn me into eternal fat-ness], so much so that she applied to teach us again in grade 6. She did successfully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is one perverted spinsters. Despite her merits in being a relatively good English teacher, she suffers from the I-am-single-and-old syndrome. Her spinsterhood affected her lifestyle. Most evident was in her speech. She enjoys telling us what happened in the previous episode of Ally McBeal. I can nearly swear she thinks she's Calista Flockhart, but she falls too short. She would tell us of the game of train and tunnel she discovered in Ally McBeal. Really, if you want to excel in her class, simply reiterate the dialogues of the previous Ally McBeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Willowy Weng my unloved friend then, annoyed her so much she yelled at him to hide behind his mother's skirt and go suckling at her bosom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kaput Kartig gets an average of a slap a day for being cheeky. And more if her pre-menopause syndrom hits her hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Obnoxious Ong happens to be our Local Studies teacher.&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Obnoxious Ong : What is the most popular produce from our latex?&lt;br /&gt;Painful Pupil 1 : Gloves&lt;br /&gt;Picayune Pupil 2 : Rubber boots&lt;br /&gt;Pathetic Pupil 3 : Eraser&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Obnoxious Ong : All of you are stupid.  Stupid. Its... C O N D O M...hehe&lt;br /&gt;*seizure of sordid silence sealing the class*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lf3T8t9I/AAAAAAAAAzI/35btaLMDZkU/s1600-h/25.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lf3T8t9I/AAAAAAAAAzI/35btaLMDZkU/s320/25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893750401644498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Wonky Wai and Erratic Edd made a lot of noise. Probably one of the days where her period suddenly did not seem to arrive as scheduled. She called them out. She made Wonky Wai slap Erratic Edd and vice versa. She said Wonky Wai must slap Erratic Edd hard enough and the reverse is true too. Elsewise, if A did not hit B hard eno0ugh, she will intervene and hit A. Out of friendship and loyalty, Wonky Wai hessitently hit Erratic Edd softly on the cheek. Fuming mad, she gave Wonky Wai one tight slap. Erratic Edd saw his potential future if he hessitently hit Wonky Wai. He mustured all his strength and might, and channeled all his chi energy on his palms shortly before landing them on Wonky Wai's already puffed up cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest shock came when she was in her morning-after-Ally McBeal-mood. She came up to class and said...&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Obnoxious Ong : You know the next door teacher? Ms. Chunky Choong said her husband reared a lot of exotic birds. Mr. Chubby Choong has a favourite bird. Its big. She said every morning her husband's bird always wakes her up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgVR8TZI/AAAAAAAAAzY/vKw7U9Uzo2M/s1600-h/baby_weird_bird%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lgVR8TZI/AAAAAAAAAzY/vKw7U9Uzo2M/s320/baby_weird_bird%5B1%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259893758446292370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm that balding bird which wakes her up everyday.&lt;br /&gt;I'm still functional alright!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now don't you wished you were in the same class as me? =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2686656826491133491?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2686656826491133491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2686656826491133491&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2686656826491133491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2686656826491133491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/10/crazy-memories.html' title='Crazy Memories.'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SP7lfx9KCfI/AAAAAAAAAzA/J8O_t_T8OGU/s72-c/classroomR2411_468x312.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7427640913662135905</id><published>2008-10-13T22:03:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T22:20:29.069+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Hey readers,&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry for having to subject you guys through such a traumatizing post. I confess that I was in a total delirium. Somehow at that point of life, that was what i honestly how I feel. As it was written honestly, I will not remove that post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, on the outset, I may appear to be good and saintly. In fact, that is who I am. I assure you. But beware the fury of a patient man. There will be a few couple of remnants of which, I will remain disappointed with them for the rest of my life, until an intervening event changes my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, I am not generally that mean as to condemn all of them especially with regards to my family members. Because if I really do, I would not be here typing, but in Hell for suicide after stuffing their dinners with arsenic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Stray,&lt;br /&gt;I thank you for being gracious with your comment. You did not condemn me for such harsh words I spewed upon my family members. You graciously admit that you did not see the full picture. This, I humbly thank you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact that I am still here, is because I believe I did not give up hope on them. I am still working to be a better person. Still working to be a better son when my father was blind. Still serving faithfully while trying to push away the discouraging memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am still working.&lt;br /&gt;And I thank God for His patience.&lt;br /&gt;I still am, and will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7427640913662135905?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7427640913662135905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7427640913662135905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7427640913662135905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7427640913662135905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/10/follow-up.html' title='Follow Up'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2741506614625532789</id><published>2008-10-10T01:07:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T22:55:29.395+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Urinals: Unifying Men</title><content type='html'>Yeah, I think I'm a happier person after blogging about what tires my mind. Over and done with [I am seriously not sure if I am], but here's to get started on a happier note-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNZ8lHNcmI/AAAAAAAAAyY/sllXmwxDZuQ/s1600-h/nvatican5rtg54urinals.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNZ8lHNcmI/AAAAAAAAAyY/sllXmwxDZuQ/s320/nvatican5rtg54urinals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256644087360877154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I am super-duper sure the popes and cardinals&lt;br /&gt;loved their urinals as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urinal"&gt;Urinals&lt;/a&gt; always intrigue me. They make me happy, nervous and trilled as well. I always look forward to a trip to the urinals at the mall/hotels/college. =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is something very masculine about urinals. First thing's first, you dun urinate secretly. Only sissies do that. Real man, urinate with other men. The only reason plausible for those wimps to prefer stalls over urinals is probably their low self image of their appendage. I'm not. *smiles widely*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One step up to the urinal is one major leap into the partriachal fraternity of manhood on epic scale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNaKmyCZWI/AAAAAAAAAyg/e35cNlGnFSQ/s1600-h/800px-CLHSUrinal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNaKmyCZWI/AAAAAAAAAyg/e35cNlGnFSQ/s320/800px-CLHSUrinal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256644328327112034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The almost-alike urinals at PFS. Absolutely aromatic. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The place where we compared sizes and end up feeling lowly.&lt;br /&gt;I knew never felt that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;My school was well known for its notorious toilet and the centre of its focus, the urinals from which all odours flow. I attribute the stepping stone of my creative writing to the excellent, invigorating smells of those testosterone-splashed toilet. Ever Free swears by their power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking at urinals, you might think there are no silent rules and conventions to its usage. Wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;You should never be caught talking with another person in the toilet or across the urinals except the polite "Hi" and "Bye". Keep socialising activities out of toilets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You should not stare at your neighbour's crotch no matter how weird it looks compared to yours. If you're cut and your neighbour is the opposite, and you are SOOO curious, use the God-given Internet with much godly discernment. You don't want to be caught stumbling upon jewish porn.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Use the 1-3-5 rule if urinals are placed closely to each other. The even numbers serve as barriers between urinating parties.  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The urinal ettique of utmost importance, is the no-hug rule. You should never be caught hugging another male friend of yours in the toilet even if it was centuries ago since you last saw him. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNbYUVW1OI/AAAAAAAAAyw/kp_7i-IEQNE/s1600-h/tobacco-male-lifestyle_%7Eu12471280.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNbYUVW1OI/AAAAAAAAAyw/kp_7i-IEQNE/s200/tobacco-male-lifestyle_%7Eu12471280.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256645663404774626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But knowing who Alex is, you will rightly presume that he takes pleasure in breaking every social rule possible. I find urinals the best place to have some csual conversation about the weather and to the temperature of the toilet at the current moment. Conversations in the toilet make me feel...Good and sociable. I am warm =)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't peek at others when they urinate. Some people just deserve privacy they love. Yet again you know just the times where you can't help but notice your neighbour's appendage when he urinates if he happens to be taller. and the urinal barriers just don't cover his privates. But I find that a rarity these days. Guys who frequent the urinals are rarely taller than me. And you know whats good in that? Everybody watches mine. *grumble grumble... the perks of being taller* Can't the contractors fix&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armitage_Shanks"&gt; Armitage Shanks&lt;/a&gt; a couple of inches higher?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNgORA8DcI/AAAAAAAAAy4/FYDr1zcGmyI/s1600-h/flower_urinals.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNgORA8DcI/AAAAAAAAAy4/FYDr1zcGmyI/s320/flower_urinals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256650988273274306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Think Venus Flytrap.&lt;br /&gt;Chop! Chop! Chop!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really care about that silly rule of leaving a urinal free between urinating men. If some guy is urinating at a urinal, i would jump next to him and be his neighbour. Yeah, you can call me weird or what not, but deep within its the sense of global bond of union in the manhood fraternity. You just feel included. And thats a happy thing. So next time, follow my advice and jump next to the urinating guy and join him in doing what girls would have been trying to do for milleniums; urinating while standing. I can see that smile on your face. really, its the biggest common factor in us guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the best of all? I hug my friends in the toilet. Can you beat that? Even if I've justmet them a day ago, I hug them like I'm going to Timbuktu tomorrow. Of course, many of them freaked out and panicked. But Alex sure has a way to ease that. Haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNauAgI1-I/AAAAAAAAAyo/dm_SSuls4gg/s1600-h/Urinals.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNauAgI1-I/AAAAAAAAAyo/dm_SSuls4gg/s320/Urinals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256644936526780386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Idiosyncracies of urinals users.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2741506614625532789?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2741506614625532789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2741506614625532789&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2741506614625532789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2741506614625532789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/10/urinals-unifying-men.html' title='Urinals: Unifying Men'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SPNZ8lHNcmI/AAAAAAAAAyY/sllXmwxDZuQ/s72-c/nvatican5rtg54urinals.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7293633549895450975</id><published>2008-09-28T14:29:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T17:42:29.948+08:00</updated><title type='text'>His Friend</title><content type='html'>Henry Blackaby once said that God's friends are often the most loneliest people. I used to wonder why. But i see the high correlation now between being in a relationship with God, and his relationship with his fellow peers. Now don't get me wrong, I never have in mind that God is to be blamed and is the ultimate cause for solitude in this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take for example X. X, I believe, has strong personal and biblical convictions in Christ. He believes his relationship with Christ is like that of a marriage, with added, eternal intimacy. Lets examine his relationship with the people around him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCiepuDQWI/AAAAAAAAAwA/FbmdpBfOs0E/s1600-h/2255827950_1f0009c317.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCiepuDQWI/AAAAAAAAAwA/FbmdpBfOs0E/s200/2255827950_1f0009c317.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251375812992778594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. He doesn't mix well with his friends at school. While others hurry to a corner at class to view porn, downloaded into a cellphone, he decided coolly to remain at the opposite corner of the class with absolutely no interest. You are a guy. Have you got no interest in vaginae and boobies? &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;[Rhetoric: Would you watch porn if your daughter ran away from home and ended up i&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;n the porn industry. Will you view porn in the same light again?]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. While at National Service, he saw how many simpletons were led astray by government's propaganda on patriotism, and saw right though the hypocrisy of it all. How can you preach independence from colonist when you subject yourself to slavery in so many other forms? You fail to keep the country clean. You fail to maintain the excellence of the educational system which was our pride. You even fail to uphold freedom of speech. He stayed away to the wonder of his friends. &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Fact: We are still colonised]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCiYr5tiEI/AAAAAAAAAv4/VhSj_xEqbcE/s1600-h/clubbing_Full.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCiYr5tiEI/AAAAAAAAAv4/VhSj_xEqbcE/s200/clubbing_Full.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251375710499342402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. At college, he saw how his friends carelessly spent their money. They could decide without much though, to drive and eat dinner at the direct opposite end of the island. They could spend an additional 35 bucks to enter a club and dance till their right butt cheek sag more than their left. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;[Rhetoric: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;Have you got no conscience for your parents who worked and toiled so hard so you could have a decent education and would not need to follow their footsteps paved with thorns and pricks?]  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. From the pulpit, he understands that is it right and biblical for him to open up to godly matured Christians and to have a accountability partner. Again and again, one after another, he opens up. He got various responses. Some frown upon him. Some acted like they have not heard his confessed dirty little secrets. Some never viewed him the same way again. Some decided to stay at n arm's length. Some decided they rather be busy with other issues.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Fact: We are a lot of very preoccupied people]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCik9Z4axI/AAAAAAAAAwI/ImY7j7S2AWU/s1600-h/10774330_d4c7dda558.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCik9Z4axI/AAAAAAAAAwI/ImY7j7S2AWU/s320/10774330_d4c7dda558.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251375921356106514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.He finds his brother too shallow in thought and his mother too fluctuitious in temperament They love the very things they hate and contradict themselves greatly. His father bribes him into feling good everytime he verbally abuses him. X struggles between love and hate. Between the times his father stroke his hair when he was asleep and the times he deliberately smokes infront of X knowing that X cannot tolerate smoke. Meanwhile his father does not know that everytime he goes on an assignment, X worries for his father's safety and well being. His father just wont give up.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;[Fact: X is a bitch who worries for people who hurt him]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. He sits down the pew. He looks around. People with families and friends. He feels so alone and isolated. He tried squeezing himself into a family with consent. He soon realised that consent was out of courtesy. He does not believe in a body of Christ, caring enough to help ease another person's load. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;[Fact: We are one in the body of Christ]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conclusion. This is a two pronged question. Should he be God's friend? Coz he knew what price God paid for him to be His friend...His own blood. Should he? He can do whatever he wants without a sligthest tinge of conscience induced by the Holy Spirit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7293633549895450975?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7293633549895450975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7293633549895450975&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7293633549895450975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7293633549895450975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/his-friend.html' title='His Friend'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SOCiepuDQWI/AAAAAAAAAwA/FbmdpBfOs0E/s72-c/2255827950_1f0009c317.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4083967538495828264</id><published>2008-09-22T01:10:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T00:53:47.369+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fun or No Fun</title><content type='html'>The most audible cases on sexual assaults that you would have heard, often falls on the womenfolk. They get it everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On buses. On trains.&lt;br /&gt;In the crowd and in solitude.&lt;br /&gt;At work, and at play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men don't get assaulted sexually. True or not true?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people go to the extend of popularizing sexual assaults to the extend of perverting the actual account and situation of a male sexual assault victim. The assumed reason why there aren't much reported cases of men getting sexually assaulted is because they enjoyed it. Hence, it would even be politically wrong to call it an assault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wrong. Men equally stand the chances of being assaulted sexually. And it is because of shame that none or little, if any, come out to report. Lets take a look at a couple of accounts of guys getting sexually assaulted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Story 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On July the 20&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;. That was a memorable day. It was my first day into my degree. Knowing that I have hours before my first lecture, I decided to head to a bookstore at Prangin Mall where, unbeknownst &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;to me, I would get my first experience being assaulted by a stranger. I was flipping through a cookbook, browsing for fresh ideas. Up came a man, in his middle 50's approaching me. He asked if I was a tourist since I carried a large backpack. I replied 'no'. Our conversation kicked off from the recent political tsunami to Anwar, and from the unjust government to the hopeful new dawn of Malaysia. Yet he commented on his skepticism on the new government if there is going to be any. Anwar might just be another Mahathir, a disloyal friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In our conversation, I noticed a few questions directed to me asking if I stayed alone, and if I have had sex. I said no to all the above. He commented on how lonely he felt, and how he was betrayed by his friends. He told me he had no family and lives alone. My heart went out to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having ministry in mind, I continued talking to him. He suggested we get a quiet place to sit and converse. We walked along KOMTAR's dead corridors, and found an open space with benches and a strong breeze. We talked about how disillusioned the world is and how religion is a hoax. I rebutted. He said he wasn't happy. I told him true joy is found in Christ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was delighted to have found a companion to converse with. He repeatedly asked me how he could make me happy. By now, he held my forearm. I did not budge but felt uncomfortable. I did not want to flinch and make him feel like an outcast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I think I am just afraid to offend people. I'm just the casual Mr. Nice. I can't be a Mr. Nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started pouring his heart to me. How I made him feel comfortable and etc. He asked if I could move in with him, as he leaned his head on my shoulders. He asked again how he could make me happy. Would I permit him to massage me? Would I permit him to perform oral sex on me? I tried my best not to look alarmed. He said he always believe that young guys like me needed relief. I wanted to tell him I can have mine anytime at the water closets. But then again, I firmly told him my phallus is exclusively reserved for my wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In slight disappointment, he wraped his hands around my thighs [I crossed my legs], so near that half an inch, he could have felt my genitals. I tried my best to divert his hands, by covering that region. We continued talking, and I tried my best ministering to him. That in until I realised I needed to catch a bus to college. I am so relieved I am out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Story 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September 4&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;. A normal day, at least that was what I thought it would be. As I entered the lift, an Indian Muslim man in his fifties tried to stop the doors from closing. He came in and there was only both of us in the lift. He inquired...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"Which floor is the **** office?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"&gt;"I think its the 6&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;,"&lt;/span&gt; I hit the button for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"Thanks"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The door opened and he peeked out.&lt;br /&gt;Placing his hands across my shoulders, he said&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt; "I think this is not the floor I'm looking for,"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"&gt;"Well, lets try the 8&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt;,"&lt;/span&gt; and he placed his hands on my waist. I suspected nothing but mere attempts to be friendly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"Are you open minded?"&lt;/span&gt;. The lift did not open on the 8&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; floor.&lt;br /&gt;As far as I am concerned, I am not conservative so I said &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"&gt;"Yeah, I am"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He rubbed my rear end. I was in shock and total disbelief of what was happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;"Do you mind?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as my 19 years of education did me good, I was thought to give a firm 'NO'. So I said &lt;span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"&gt;"NO" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:black;"&gt;to express my dissent&lt;/span&gt;. But little did I know, my answer was favourable to him. He reached for my genitals and fondled it.&lt;br /&gt;Shortly, the doors opened, it was my campus already. I stepped out, still shocked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conclusion is this. Most victims felt that they are at fault. They feel extremely dirty and violated thus blaming themselves for being a victim. Though the facts is that they just happen to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, but the stepmother in their head was accusing them for wearing clothes in a suggestive manner etc. etc. which is untrue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The greatest damage is when a violated guy looses his self worth and wonders if he is gay to attract a male predator. Confusion sets in and he wonders if he should enjoyed that violation, or deem it an insult to his manhood. Fun or no fun?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You guys out there. You know yourselves well. You know you did not wear suggestive clothing. Do not allow anyone to tell you that you brought it upon yourself and hence, deserving of such trauma. Those are demonic beings.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4083967538495828264?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4083967538495828264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4083967538495828264&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4083967538495828264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4083967538495828264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/fun-or-no-fun.html' title='Fun or No Fun'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6919460204249419670</id><published>2008-09-17T22:31:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T09:19:42.846+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Desire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SNRNiiTccCI/AAAAAAAAAvo/Ybjj1BxSVNo/s1600-h/last_samurai.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SNRNiiTccCI/AAAAAAAAAvo/Ybjj1BxSVNo/s320/last_samurai.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247904721512722466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;There is a deep desire in me, to live life passionately. To be forcefully aggressive. To love not with gentle madness but with precision of the conscious mind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To not live life thinking I can delay and put off another issue, but to rush out to my battle wielding my sword.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This is my desire. One which I have constantly put aside hours merely hours after feeling motivated.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;In my life, I need to know the impermanence of things. The need for me to be firm and strong. To display solidarity and passion. To have a cause to die for that I may live. I have found that cause. Its Jesus.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Inspired by The Last Samurai and Braveheart&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6919460204249419670?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6919460204249419670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6919460204249419670&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6919460204249419670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6919460204249419670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/desire.html' title='Desire'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SNRNiiTccCI/AAAAAAAAAvo/Ybjj1BxSVNo/s72-c/last_samurai.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-254649200458034342</id><published>2008-09-13T01:03:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-13T10:43:06.668+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bowl of Porridge</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMsohdhbAhI/AAAAAAAAAvg/h1FhZD_sZDw/s1600-h/CHICKEN_CONGEE.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMsohdhbAhI/AAAAAAAAAvg/h1FhZD_sZDw/s200/CHICKEN_CONGEE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245330746328678930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having an ulcer on your tongue can be some kind of inferno spewing lava from your hairy ass. Brush the fantastical analogy aside, ulcer is the pain not even the worst of criminals deserve having them. By now, you would have guessed that I, a holy saint would have contracted some sore ulcer on my tongue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now having an ulcer on your inner mouth linings or gums would not be as bad as having one on the side of your tongue. Why? Simply because you can’t chew anything. Why can’t you? Because your ulcerous patch would have to brush against your teeth and boy, I tell you… the pain would do my brother good. He’ll pass off food and not even show a single interest in them. Inference? He’ll burn those calories he’s accumulated over the centuries.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I can’t eat bread and rice or practically anything that requires me to chew because I’ll have to swallow them instead, with my hand pressing against my ear, easing the pain. [Don’t ask me why my ear but surely the neurologist can shed some light on this area].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How would you like to smile when your mom cooks your favourite spiced chicken and know that the best you can do is to swallow them without feeling those chunks dance on your tongue? Would you smile still?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So simply because I can eat almost nothing, I asked my mom if she can cook me some rice porridge with chicken fillet. The good ol’ congee! My family hasn’t been a big fan of congee. My mom knowing this, cooked sufficiently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had congee before I went out to run my errands, sending my application to the University of London and buying bank drafts. And because I did not have lunch, I came home in the evening all famished. To my dismay, I found that all that remains in the pot is a bowl’s measure of congee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was clear that my brother found a strange and sudden fondness towards chicken congee today. He ate so much as to leave me and my mom to share a bowl of congee. I was stupefied and very much saddened and angry all inside. Yet my ulcer prevented me from venting everything out verbally. Its not like I need an ulcer to place a restriction on my gap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my mom really saw that disappointment on my face. Strange, she thought I was just sick and tired for being under the constant rain. Deep within, I am sick for always letting my brother step all over me, eating my portion always. The only solution to the scarcity of food is to simply add water to the porridge/congee to increase its volume – which really isn’t a solution after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a short nap later because I know I can attribute my frustrations to the tiredness of the day. And woke up to have my stomach growling ferociously. Asked my mother if there is any fillet left for me to cook up another bowl of porridge. She checked and instantly cooked up another pot of porridge. I saw how she was all geared up in her comfy pajamas, ready to jump into bed, had to chop some chicken chunks in the kitchen instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go ahead check the history and significance of congee and you might just be surprised. Congee helped to save lives through out the ages in China when food is scarce and when a raging plague was inflicted upon the people, congee came into the picture. Fills the stomach with speed and suits those who are sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when the congee is finally on the table, I thanked God for filling me. My mom and her effort, embodied in the bowl of congee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-254649200458034342?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/254649200458034342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=254649200458034342&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/254649200458034342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/254649200458034342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/bowl-of-porridge.html' title='The Bowl of Porridge'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMsohdhbAhI/AAAAAAAAAvg/h1FhZD_sZDw/s72-c/CHICKEN_CONGEE.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2970021747590389569</id><published>2008-09-09T20:34:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T23:05:29.008+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hell Hath No Fury Like An Alex Crossed</title><content type='html'>*Blows the bugle*&lt;br /&gt;Alexs from all four corners of the world unite!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell you, readers, you must be so thankful to God. You must praise Him day and night without fail for His abounding love. You feeble mortals, if&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I WERE GOD INSTEAD OF GOD,&lt;br /&gt;THE EARTH WOULD BE A BALL OF ROASTED BALL OF DUST, CAKED WITH SALT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know why? My brother incurred my wrath. But that does not matter. He is mortal, and there fore, if&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I WERE GOD INSTEAD OF GOD,&lt;br /&gt;MY BROTHER WILL TWITCH IN MY HOTTEST REGIONS OF HADES&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my head, I see the earth covered with towering flame.&lt;br /&gt;The mountains will vomit their lava, the earth would be so hot, everything would spontaneously combust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One moment you are talking to your bff, the next moment, you see her head exploded into smithereens with a loud bang with flames shooting out of her snapped neck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the streets, The UMNO warlords, fat and juicy, would melt, melt, melt leaving only skin and bones [they have no flesh coz they dun build on mass] and suddenly burst into flames like that of a fiery confetti. And i bet they'll look a thousand times, better than the fireworks you've seen at the Beijing Olympics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The earth is so hot, the sea would boil before evaporating, leaving only salt.&lt;br /&gt;But then again, you may sleep in peace knowing Alex is not god, But God is god.&lt;br /&gt;Have a nice day, and sleep well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps. that is... only until I get appointed to be God's right hand man, you guys will be combusted as well. But i'll inform you guys when the time come yeah? Cherios!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2970021747590389569?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2970021747590389569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2970021747590389569&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2970021747590389569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2970021747590389569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/hell-hath-no-fury-like-alex-crossed.html' title='Hell Hath No Fury Like An Alex Crossed'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3773533922069642514</id><published>2008-09-08T11:23:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T11:35:07.722+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Running Away</title><content type='html'>I know. I haven't been blogging for ages. These few months, I've been trying hard to adapt to my new environment in which i have already been living in. But why new? When my godfather went away, my world suddenly took a swirl around. Its different now. No coffee meets and everything that flows out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMSbHHcD1pI/AAAAAAAAAvA/I3mDMwex_2A/s1600-h/escape-key.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMSbHHcD1pI/AAAAAAAAAvA/I3mDMwex_2A/s200/escape-key.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243486412724229778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;No doubt. He did a great deal of a change in me. In my speech, my attitude, my thoughts, and even down to how I dress. His absence, like how I predicted, affected me greatly in a negative way. And this is bad. I learn to mature now. To grow and to stand firm on my two feet and to know that people will come and go but my God will remain. I grow strong. I toughen up. I brace myself for a harsher world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when he came back after leaving me clueless, blank and disappointed for 3 months, I am weak again. After all the effort I've been putting in to be tough and unaffected, I could almost hear the cracks in me. I don't want to fall again. I don't want to need anybody's affection. I don't want to believe any mortal loves. Because he said he does. And I don't believe anymore. At least wholeheartedly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he came back, and when he was at church, I tried to avoid him. I literally run to get&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMSdKGHEF1I/AAAAAAAAAvI/qWDLXIwTexk/s1600-h/hide_and_seek.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMSdKGHEF1I/AAAAAAAAAvI/qWDLXIwTexk/s200/hide_and_seek.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243488662930593618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; out of his sight. I fear. I am afraid. I don't want to see him again. I don't want his promises and get disappointed over and over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this I learned. That I give up my life for others. That I occupy myself with loads of activity to avoid quiet contemplation. I want to live for a cause. And its gotta be the Jesus cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what about my name?  I am still a Steinert. I always am. I'm just playing a serious game of hide and seek.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3773533922069642514?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3773533922069642514/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3773533922069642514&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3773533922069642514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3773533922069642514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/running-away.html' title='Running Away'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SMSbHHcD1pI/AAAAAAAAAvA/I3mDMwex_2A/s72-c/escape-key.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1832007124551634297</id><published>2008-09-08T11:17:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T11:20:34.555+08:00</updated><title type='text'>End</title><content type='html'>So thus, ends my series of posts on the various songs that ministered to me during particular times of my life. Of course, there are more out there, but till the next time i blog again about music, I would suggest you go experiment my selections.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1832007124551634297?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1832007124551634297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1832007124551634297&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1832007124551634297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1832007124551634297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/09/end.html' title='End'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1953728212305737035</id><published>2008-08-16T13:16:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-16T13:47:56.189+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Worlds Apart - Jars of Clay</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SKZpqqOjQEI/AAAAAAAAAu4/mE_lwlhWWMQ/s1600-h/jars-of-clay-400ds0730.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SKZpqqOjQEI/AAAAAAAAAu4/mE_lwlhWWMQ/s200/jars-of-clay-400ds0730.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234987798475522114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am the only one to blame for this&lt;br /&gt;Somehow it all ends up the same&lt;br /&gt;Soaring on the wings of selfish pride&lt;br /&gt;I flew too high and like Icarus I collide&lt;br /&gt;With a world I try so hard to leave behind&lt;br /&gt;To rid myself of all but love&lt;br /&gt;to give and die&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To turn away and not become&lt;br /&gt;Another nail to pierce the skin of one who loves&lt;br /&gt;more deeply than the oceans,&lt;br /&gt;more abundant than the tears&lt;br /&gt;Of a world embracing every heartache&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I be the one to sacrifice&lt;br /&gt;Or grip the spear and watch the blood and water flow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To love you - take my world apart&lt;br /&gt;To need you - I am on my knees&lt;br /&gt;To love you - take my world apart&lt;br /&gt;To need you - broken on my knees&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All said and done I stand alone&lt;br /&gt;Amongst remains of a life I should not own&lt;br /&gt;It takes all I am to believe&lt;br /&gt;In the mercy that covers me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you really have to die for me?&lt;br /&gt;All I am for all you are&lt;br /&gt;Because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look beyond the empty cross&lt;br /&gt;forgetting what my life has cost&lt;br /&gt;and wipe away the crimson stains&lt;br /&gt;"dull the nails that still remain"&lt;br /&gt;More and more I need you now,&lt;br /&gt;I owe you more each passing hour&lt;br /&gt;the battle between grace and pride&lt;br /&gt;I gave up not so long ago&lt;br /&gt;So steal my heart and take the pain&lt;br /&gt;and wash the feet and cleanse my pride&lt;br /&gt;take the selfish, take the weak,&lt;br /&gt;and all the things I cannot hide&lt;br /&gt;take the beauty, take my tears&lt;br /&gt;the sin-soaked heart and make it yours&lt;br /&gt;take my world all apart&lt;br /&gt;take it now, take it now&lt;br /&gt;and serve the ones that I despise&lt;br /&gt;speak the words I can't deny&lt;br /&gt;watch the world I used to love&lt;br /&gt;fall to dust and thrown away&lt;br /&gt;I look beyond the empty cross&lt;br /&gt;forgetting what my life has cost&lt;br /&gt;so wipe away the crimson stains&lt;br /&gt;"dull the nails that still remains"&lt;br /&gt;so steal my heart and take the pain&lt;br /&gt;take the selfish, take the weak&lt;br /&gt;and all the things I cannot hide&lt;br /&gt;take the beauty, take my tears&lt;br /&gt;take my world apart, take my world apart&lt;br /&gt;I pray, I pray, I pray&lt;br /&gt;take my world apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SKZpKtEpU4I/AAAAAAAAAuw/FTsjNp8B9Co/s1600-h/Icarus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SKZpKtEpU4I/AAAAAAAAAuw/FTsjNp8B9Co/s320/Icarus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234987249483469698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would add any interpretation to it. the song speaks for itself. I really appreciate the many literary elements in it, including ones where Dan Haseltine inserts '&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Icarus"&gt;Icarus&lt;/a&gt;', the boy who escaped from a tower with his father on wings made of feathers, assembled with wax. He was warned not to go near the sun or risk having the wax melted. Like we humans, his fascination grew as he flew and he lost himself staring at the sun, wax melted and off he drops to the ground. What better analogy to call us humans?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song came to me during my years of taking O Levels and accompanied me even till this day. Perfect. Soulful. Down to earth. Real. Personal.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1953728212305737035?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1953728212305737035/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1953728212305737035&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1953728212305737035'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1953728212305737035'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/08/worlds-apart-jars-of-clay.html' title='Worlds Apart - Jars of Clay'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SKZpqqOjQEI/AAAAAAAAAu4/mE_lwlhWWMQ/s72-c/jars-of-clay-400ds0730.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3945910795378734310</id><published>2008-07-29T11:27:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T13:43:08.781+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Art In Me - Jars of Clay</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SI6tlr3VscI/AAAAAAAAAuo/eHoJoB1IXsA/s1600-h/jars_of_clay-3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SI6tlr3VscI/AAAAAAAAAuo/eHoJoB1IXsA/s320/jars_of_clay-3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228307080365322690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's descend&lt;br /&gt;Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament&lt;br /&gt;Dirty canvases to call my own&lt;br /&gt;Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In your picture book I'm trying hard to see&lt;br /&gt;Turning endless pages of this tragedy&lt;br /&gt;Sculpting every move you compose a symphony&lt;br /&gt;You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on&lt;br /&gt;Tales of broken souls, an eternity's been won&lt;br /&gt;As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man&lt;br /&gt;My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Interpretation:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first stanza was telling of signs everywhere, pointing towards the "descend" from a "dream" that is perfect. And that perfect picture was tarnished and "washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament" to mean the rejection of God's plan for perfection ages ago which became an object of ridicule today by atheists. The lyricist is aware that he himself is a "dirty canvass" as he reads the  sarcasm-filled poetry by the public phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The song progresses to show how hard the lyricist tries to peek into His "picture book", only to see tragedy by tragedy unfolding before him. I believe this "picture book" symbolises the world which God authored and how He painstakingly "composed a symphony" only to have it ruined by man's wrong choices. And restoration is only possible when everybody starts to "see the art in Me".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Stained-glass window" is synonymous with the church. Its broken form and how the fragments continue to rattle on reflects the martyrdom of the people of the church and the various suffering they had to endure. But the good news is this. That the victory had been won. Long ago when Jesus rose from the grave. The lyricist's pains include rejection of his work by the general public,   his joy is found when he draws his eyes in awe to Him once again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SI6tKGdD85I/AAAAAAAAAug/Fy0ybaQB3Uk/s1600-h/fibds_romanglass.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SI6tKGdD85I/AAAAAAAAAug/Fy0ybaQB3Uk/s200/fibds_romanglass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228306606466528146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt as if there was much in common between me and the lyricist and we have much to identify with each other. How we would peek at God's picture book and try to see our own future, only to discover more hardships and tragedies lying before our eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I hold my own "dirty canvass", I become aware of the slump in which I live in. The sidewalk and old pay phone and all. I live in a fallen world. My "fragments" continues to rattle on with intense restlessness, twisting and turning with pain, I'll always almost forget that the victory's been won. My critics are everywhere. From my harsh biological father, down to those people 'laced with holy looks' at the local church. But I remind myself that I must draw my eyes to God again. And fill myself with awe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song is exceptionally personal to me, and is above all other songs that I've listened. It has a touch of intimacy. And it was there when the issue of fatherhood and all its dreams became so real to me. And when I tried to find it in mankind, I am disappointed again and again. And when I pursue intimacy from my father, I am told I am a homosexual. How bitter it felt to have my "thoughts and works" "scorn" by "mortal men". I am struggling to find my way back to see God as my ultimate Father. Slowly but surely. I am going back to where it all began.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3945910795378734310?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3945910795378734310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3945910795378734310&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3945910795378734310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3945910795378734310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/art-in-me-jars-of-clay.html' title='Art In Me - Jars of Clay'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SI6tlr3VscI/AAAAAAAAAuo/eHoJoB1IXsA/s72-c/jars_of_clay-3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5253316984311382682</id><published>2008-07-26T13:26:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T13:53:51.584+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Offerings  - Third Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SIq7jBYt9aI/AAAAAAAAAuY/NaMUTrfrCpM/s1600-h/third.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SIq7jBYt9aI/AAAAAAAAAuY/NaMUTrfrCpM/s200/third.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227196527858808226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Jesus Light of The World&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most beautiful night of the year&lt;br /&gt;All the stars light up the sky&lt;br /&gt;And the city is sparkling with silver and gold&lt;br /&gt;From a million points of light&lt;br /&gt;A reflection of something that’s deeper within&lt;br /&gt;Just a flicker of something more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus, Light of the World&lt;br /&gt;Shine through the darkness&lt;br /&gt;Bright as the day&lt;br /&gt;Jesus, Light of the World&lt;br /&gt;Shine in our hearts&lt;br /&gt;Show us the way tonight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is this child in a manger?&lt;br /&gt;Kings bow down and angels sing&lt;br /&gt;The Lord of the Universe&lt;br /&gt;Has come here to save us&lt;br /&gt;A precious Offering&lt;br /&gt;All the heavens above and the earth below&lt;br /&gt;Are filled with the light of Your love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Interpretation:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dun think the lyrics need further explanation. Written plainly, easily understood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along with this carol, [Yes, this is a Christmas carol] is "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Do You Hear What I Hear?&lt;/span&gt;", "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The First Noel&lt;/span&gt;" and basically nearly the entire album of Third Day's Christmas album titled, &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Offerings-Third-Day/dp/B000I0QKJC"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Christmas Offerings&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; . Each of these songs definitely have a personal story to tell. "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Do You Hear What I Hear&lt;/span&gt;" reminds me of the time when I drove back from TESCO, all geared up to make nougat [which failed miserably - it burnt] and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;panna cota&lt;/span&gt; for the youth Christmas function.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The First Noel&lt;/span&gt;" was on the player as I drove to Dalat for my Christmas supper and "&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jesus, Light of The World&lt;/span&gt;" as I was driving back. Though this is no Christmas season, I assure you that I am still listening to them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other songs were played during those times where i became a victim of my biological father's abusive language on Christmas Eve and incidentally when I received my AS results. Those songs rang in my ears on those low points in my life. How could i ever forget them.   &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SIq7d6PvU1I/AAAAAAAAAuQ/nLIV4NSiqSk/s1600-h/christmasheader.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SIq7d6PvU1I/AAAAAAAAAuQ/nLIV4NSiqSk/s320/christmasheader.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227196440042754898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5253316984311382682?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5253316984311382682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5253316984311382682&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5253316984311382682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5253316984311382682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/jesus-light-of-world-third-day.html' title='Christmas Offerings  - Third Day'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SIq7jBYt9aI/AAAAAAAAAuY/NaMUTrfrCpM/s72-c/third.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7600258981185351139</id><published>2008-07-16T00:40:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T02:11:55.502+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Closer - Warren Barfield</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHzlBOpB7UI/AAAAAAAAAt4/uYSIB9jDef0/s1600-h/303122583_l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHzlBOpB7UI/AAAAAAAAAt4/uYSIB9jDef0/s200/303122583_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223301477115751746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The sun should be halfway to China by now&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The big lazy moon, well it’s barely off of the ground&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I’m on top of the world but my world is upside down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And all I have is You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Come closer, closer than ever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;So close to me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Come closer, closer than ever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;When I have You, I have all I need&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;They all expect me to have some great words to say&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I’m searching for answers but I’m finding none today&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;There is no reason, you know, there is no rhyme&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I have is You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I need is all I have&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I have is all I need&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I need is all I have&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I have is all I need is&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All I have is all I need is You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Interpretation:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is definitely some narrative song. I particularly enjoy its dreamy tune. I felt like the author of the lyrics feels some kind of paradox. He feels as if he has achieved everything, and now is "on top of the world" yet he told us that his world is "upside down" probably indicating a great deal of chaos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It became quite clear that the persona is somebody of reputation and of sound credibility. He told us that everybody wants some words from him, and yet he could find none. He found no meaning and significance in fame. He realises that he doesn't need all the answers in the world. Only &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;You&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song harps on its element of escapism. "Journey to China", beams of the moon. I could sense that the author is trying to escape the world he knew. To return to the only thing that ever mattered. God. The very moments when i stumbled upon this song. I grew to like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was tough time for me. I had to prepare for my upcoming A Level exam. And it was not fun. Not at all when you realise that your academic future and providence depends on this sheet of paper [pun intended].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was this moment that my heart begins to grow and yearn for Vietnam as a place for ministry and backpacking.  Thats escapism for me. I hate to be stuck here in Penang. Everything around me is so familiar. Too familiar till it arouses my contempt for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If there is one incident that I would link this song with, it would be the day when I was to meet Tim with the rest of the youth for Narnia:Prince Caspian. I was there to catch up with Tim, expecting him to spend some time off with me, while the Dalat kids have fun by themselves before the movie starts. I was mainly there for Tim and not the movie. I was running out of time and I cannot afford it on watching a movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Due to unforeseen intervention, Tim and I had to be a part of the treasure hunt. We missed out on an opportunity to have coffee that week. It was something I was looking forward to ever since he promised to spend some time with me that very week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that i am a very irrational person. If you still would not be able to make it this week, its fine with me although i confess that deep down i want to flay his visage with my talons. But here's the thing. Before we departed, I discovered that&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;He could not make it for the church Family Day&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He would not be around for our anniversary&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He would be away as soon as my exam ends&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He will not return in 1.5 months time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;Of course he attempted a hug before I left the vicinity but I was as firm and sturdy as a pogo stick. Frustration booming under my skin, Rage gushing through my veins and Disappointment screaming in my heart. I walked off before  my hands feel like disobeying me, to land a few punches in his gut. Driving back home, i screamed and wailed aloud in my car. If only he would see my need for intimacy. The need to be CLOSER&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHzlZ-9PAYI/AAAAAAAAAuA/L7BGKXb2DBc/s1600-h/ist2_441798-friends-at-the-beach-feb2005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHzlZ-9PAYI/AAAAAAAAAuA/L7BGKXb2DBc/s320/ist2_441798-friends-at-the-beach-feb2005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223301902402257282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7600258981185351139?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7600258981185351139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7600258981185351139&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7600258981185351139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7600258981185351139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/closer-warren-barfield.html' title='Closer - Warren Barfield'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHzlBOpB7UI/AAAAAAAAAt4/uYSIB9jDef0/s72-c/303122583_l.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1995275482894330894</id><published>2008-07-12T00:35:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T01:08:23.989+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Only Alive -Jars Of Clay</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeSaCm6odI/AAAAAAAAAtM/0w6goMQUALQ/s1600-h/39226_lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeSaCm6odI/AAAAAAAAAtM/0w6goMQUALQ/s320/39226_lg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221803269033730514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a fair weather friend&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I'm a colorless view&lt;br /&gt;but I'm willin' to make a deal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; If you think you can make some faith here inside&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I'll drive off and marry you&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;I'm only alive with you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I can't get by and I won't get through&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; So put me in the river and let me say I do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I'm only alive with you&lt;/span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're a sight for sore eyes and a newborn cry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; In a year where there are so few&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you throw me a line, I'll show you in time&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm falling in love with you&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Though my heart has been torn by loves I have worn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; And I'm tempted by them ever still&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I tremble inside when you walk in the room&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You hold my affections and will&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My interpretation:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This song was written from a perspective of a person talking to God. I am indeed fair weathered, and my loyalty and allegiance is questionable. And Jesus, if he is willing to take me, with my shortcomings and such, I am willing to follow then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sight of Jesus is just perfect for those with sore eyes. And true enough, He was the only baby in his region at his time of birth since Herod ordered for the massacre of the babes in bid to eliminate Jesus. Jesus, if he would step out and make the first move, I will certainly prove in time that I will indeed fall in love with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart is easily divided and has been worn out by the many loves for the things of the world. The many temptations that spins around me, still tempts me. But when you are here with me, you will just see how my heart flutters as you hold my affections. My tender affections.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chorus speaks of how I am only alive by Christ. And this is an invitation for me to wade into the water with Him in perfect union.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Story:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This songs started out for me as an understanding of how my relationship with Christ should be. As time progresses, I daydreamed about how this song felt as if it was about me and my god-father, Tim and how whenever I am about to meet him, my heart would flutter in excitement and filled with amorous love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Months later, it sort of became my theme song for my baptism. Of how I would wade into the waters and say "I do"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1995275482894330894?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1995275482894330894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1995275482894330894&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1995275482894330894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1995275482894330894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/only-alive-jars-of-clay.html' title='Only Alive -Jars Of Clay'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeSaCm6odI/AAAAAAAAAtM/0w6goMQUALQ/s72-c/39226_lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8259515628961544371</id><published>2008-07-12T00:14:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T00:34:45.401+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Music</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeLkbLIUMI/AAAAAAAAAtE/HDJ_b3wNE_o/s1600-h/MuseumSexHeadphones.preview.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeLkbLIUMI/AAAAAAAAAtE/HDJ_b3wNE_o/s200/MuseumSexHeadphones.preview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221795750845370562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Music maketh a man. Thee knowest not music, thou art hollow then. I've decided to come out with a series of post regarding my favourite music pieces of all times. These are the songs that met me specifically in my times of need and each song has a special meaning to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I hope you enjoy these pieces that I've managed to put together for archiving purposes. Lets see if 20 years down the road, would I be able to like them still.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8259515628961544371?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8259515628961544371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8259515628961544371&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8259515628961544371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8259515628961544371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/music.html' title='Music'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeLkbLIUMI/AAAAAAAAAtE/HDJ_b3wNE_o/s72-c/MuseumSexHeadphones.preview.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8248261498720288008</id><published>2008-07-11T23:49:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-12T00:36:12.659+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Those Magic Moments</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeFTXSf7TI/AAAAAAAAAs8/ouGDTK1zijk/s1600-h/logo_simple.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeFTXSf7TI/AAAAAAAAAs8/ouGDTK1zijk/s200/logo_simple.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221788860674993458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Magic moments are hard to find. But once found, should be treasured. Take this, as I was reading in my room, my mom came up to me with a pair of tweezers asking me to remove the follicles from her armpit. So I did just that. But words starts to spill out, and we talk and we laughed. If only life was that simple. If only...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8248261498720288008?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8248261498720288008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8248261498720288008&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8248261498720288008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8248261498720288008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/those-magic-moments.html' title='Those Magic Moments'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHeFTXSf7TI/AAAAAAAAAs8/ouGDTK1zijk/s72-c/logo_simple.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5317453198519382155</id><published>2008-07-09T01:16:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T03:09:47.416+08:00</updated><title type='text'>His Eyes</title><content type='html'>I could not sleep. No matter how many time i twist and turn and toss myself silly on my warm bed. I just could not bring myself to sleep. fearful thoughts keep racing across my forehead, each shouting for my attention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sang.&lt;br /&gt;I listened to music&lt;br /&gt;I prayed&lt;br /&gt;I cleaned my room&lt;br /&gt;I searched for sleeping pills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I thought I have friends whom I can fall back to- friends whom I can trust, talk, and gain my composure, seek restoration my sanity and gain comfort- I am shot back to reality again. None of my friends are really bothered to  see the pain in me even after I made known my request for help. Each quite absorbed in their own world. Each still nursing a little dumb/mute babe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHO4FNijY9I/AAAAAAAAAss/43Yx-iY5uJs/s1600-h/23322096.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHO4FNijY9I/AAAAAAAAAss/43Yx-iY5uJs/s200/23322096.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220718792725980114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I stare into the mirror. Who am I looking at?&lt;br /&gt;The boy who used to have that careless grin is now a man with smudged past and a foggy future. In a glimpse,  I have grown out of the dark, into pain. I stare down my naked body, analysing each inch of real flesh. Real hair, real flesh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, with so many crisis spinning wild around me. I don't need people giving passing remarks of how they always will be there for me and offering cyber hugs. The very same person who said she will always be there just closed down on me because she was on a foul mood, not exactly a perfect one to converse with some melodramatic asshole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw that pair of eyes. I recognised those dark hazel eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Those clueless wild eyes that are staring back at me.&lt;br /&gt;The very same eyes that sparkled with joy upon stumbling on the man he would faint to call father.&lt;br /&gt;Those eyes which squinted to hold back the gushing sadness when reality is just too far from his idealistic world.&lt;br /&gt;The very eyes   twinkled at his friends knowing that he has company.&lt;br /&gt;The same eyes that weep at his own insignificant and insecurity.&lt;br /&gt;Those eyes which pleaded with Heaven for love, hope and mercy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much more to his eyes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5317453198519382155?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5317453198519382155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5317453198519382155&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5317453198519382155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5317453198519382155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/his-eyes.html' title='His Eyes'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHO4FNijY9I/AAAAAAAAAss/43Yx-iY5uJs/s72-c/23322096.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-5665586647733604786</id><published>2008-07-08T01:04:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T01:27:45.701+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Sunflower is Screaming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHJQjNrvWeI/AAAAAAAAAsc/CYOUl9G-LLY/s1600-h/sunflower.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHJQjNrvWeI/AAAAAAAAAsc/CYOUl9G-LLY/s320/sunflower.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220323483974588898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At such moments as these, I am struggling with decision making. And my soul is crying out to God. I am completely clueless about what he has for me, and what he wants for me. I have two paths laid out before me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. To work temporarily as a teacher and study for my SAT which would be set in October  and after that go on mission/backpacking trip to Vietnam and then do a liberal arts degree at a US college with a scholarship.&lt;br /&gt;2. To instantly start on a law degree at a local college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Factors to consider.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;It takes 3 years to graduate from my local college with a certificate from University of London. and expenses are low. I already have an A Levels qualification to do a UK degree. However, this is an external paper. I have to work my butt off like crazy. This is very unforgiving.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;  &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;It will take approximately 4 years to graduate from a US college. I will need to spend extra $$$ to pay for my SAT fees. I can only start next year. I can only go to the states with a scholarship. I can only start next year's spring intake as i have yet to even take my SAT.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;  Its extremely painful to suffer from bad decision making. And i don't want to go through that. I should not be contemplating to do a degree from US since i have already done my foundation studies [ie. Cambridge A Levels] for a UK degree. However this is a result from my insecurity over my A Levels results. Everything seemed to be at odds against me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I doubt if I could get all distinctions for my every subject. I  have worked my best. yet due to so many external factors i could not control, my results seem bleak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I could choose to do a twinning program [2+ 1...ie. 2 years in Malaysia, 1 year at a UK university, which would seem cool and plus, its an easier program]. But having said that, I could not bear to see my mom exhausting her Employee's  Providence Fund [EPF] for my sake. I will not allow that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course i could use my freaking pessimistic sense [and be realistic] and decide instantaneously that doing a law degree at a local college would be sufficient. But my reading of Old Testaments keeps convincing me that God is beyond reasonable, realistic sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Could God be actually calling me to be a temporary teacher and later do a short term mission in Vietnam? Would he have placed those desires in my heart without any specific cause?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno. Help.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHJRMvfFZvI/AAAAAAAAAsk/-C8A3UW8-EM/s1600-h/sunflower19g.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHJRMvfFZvI/AAAAAAAAAsk/-C8A3UW8-EM/s320/sunflower19g.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220324197422950130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-5665586647733604786?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/5665586647733604786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=5665586647733604786&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5665586647733604786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/5665586647733604786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-sunflower-is-screaming.html' title='My Sunflower is Screaming'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SHJQjNrvWeI/AAAAAAAAAsc/CYOUl9G-LLY/s72-c/sunflower.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2797930964876671072</id><published>2008-07-02T22:13:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-02T22:20:41.734+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Puddington</title><content type='html'>What do you know about temptation?&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGuNpCenfjI/AAAAAAAAAsU/S9uCXlN7E0c/s1600-h/P6260068.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGuNpCenfjI/AAAAAAAAAsU/S9uCXlN7E0c/s320/P6260068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218420329418292786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This IS temptation personified.&lt;br /&gt;Bread and butter pudding with walnuts of autumn fragrance and  richness of the tropics in banana.  Absolutely  TO-DIE-FOR.  Thanks fairy godmother, the &lt;a href="http://masterwordsmith2.blogspot.com/"&gt;masterwordsmith&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2797930964876671072?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2797930964876671072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2797930964876671072&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2797930964876671072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2797930964876671072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/07/puddington.html' title='Puddington'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGuNpCenfjI/AAAAAAAAAsU/S9uCXlN7E0c/s72-c/P6260068.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7896466802338013827</id><published>2008-06-26T23:54:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T01:41:17.599+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Ride</title><content type='html'>There was this old boy/young man who just completed his Cambridge A Level Exams and had a lot of time in his hands. He was reminded how the Government left him 300 bucks for allowance on attending National Service a year ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The government, corrupted, vile, and villainous is extremely crafty. Knowing that the feeble &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bank Pertanian&lt;/span&gt; [Bank of Agriculture] is utilised by absolutely none  in the middle class, and surely never in the upper class society, the government decided that they just cannot allow their beloved Bank Pertanian to simply regress helplessly,  like some lousy &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;kembung&lt;/span&gt; fish flipping pathetically on the sea shore.    &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order for the government to be able to transfer the money to this poor man, he had to open an account in Bank Pertanian at Butterworth and not Penang Island[where he resides], under some complicated circumstances.  And it was so, that his account was opened last year. Since he had not the luxury of time and money [price of fuel] to travel all the way to Butterworth to seal his account, he decided that it was no good to delay it any longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took a bus from his home to the jetty and took the ferry across the straits to the mainland. It was an exhilarating ride for him. Any local would mistake him for a citizen of China, on grounds of seeing him busy snapping with his camera. He cannot be blamed. It was 12 years ago he last used the ferry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as he got down, he wasted no time in getting to the bank by foot for a distance of 4 km. The transaction was slow. He was rather un-suprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when it was all over, he decided to go for a meal and later decided to explore Butterworth. A place which would make him excessively tired by the mere mention of it. Why should he not? He was convinced all this while [and even more so, today] that Butterworth and Penang Island is a reflection of mainland China and HongKong. The island, highly sophisticated and in touch with post-modernity. The mainland, unrefined, vulgar and uncouth.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How so? Butterworth did not change for the better. It was the same yesterday and today and doubtless, tomorrow as well. Dry, hot humid, wet, damp, illogical, senseless, nothingness, clogged sewage, wide-roads-with-no-soul. Butterworth is plain lonely. He hardly saw anyone at any turn or junction.  It was like a dehydrated dead rat by the drain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He walked from the bank to a cafeteria a whole distance of 5 km and from the cafeteria to the famed Chye Leng Park a wet 8km. All for the sake of living economically, and exploration. But as I mentioned, he found nothing to be explored except dusty roads, clogged sewage, and ...nothing else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The interesting part is here. 5 km into his walk from the cafeteria to Chye Leng Park [which is to his dismay, nothing other than a few stalls selling overpriced poultry and over-polished fruits, making up a wet market], it started to drizzle heavily. He was a little clueless as how he would survive a rainwash. He had no umbrellas with him. He found some shaded pavement across the street so he decided it was best to cross the road and walk under the shade. As soon as the shaded pavement came to an end, so did the drizzle. He thus returned to the other side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wondered if it was God's purpose for him to walk under the shaded pavements by manipulating the drizzle. He decided it surely would have some divine reason to his 'waste' of time crossing the road twice. Minutes later, it drizzled a little. But the skies were sunny and he doubt if it should rain at all. No, this &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; Malaysia. Anything is possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he was walking along the highway, an old japanese car with two scruffy looking mechanic inside, decided to pull by the pavement and opened the car door, bidding him to enter... [Anything is possible in Malaysia]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My readers, what would you have done?&lt;br /&gt;You would have heard of rape and robbery cases.&lt;br /&gt;They are rampant here in Malaysia.&lt;br /&gt;What would you do,&lt;br /&gt;If you were walking on that street with the same invitation?&lt;br /&gt;The drizzle was less than mild.&lt;br /&gt;Would you have walked on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without hesitation, he jumped right into that car and instantaneously blurted out the words "Please drop me at Chye Leng Park". [Did I not tell you that everything is possible here in Malaysia?] Of course, he started to blush at his impoliteness of asserting his destination before being asked. And he incessantly thanked the two scruffy looking man. And they managed to dropped him off under some trees by the shop lots near Chye Leng Park after some considerable distance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the doors were shut, the rain started to pour like cats and dogs, just as the days of Noah when he sealed the doors of the ark. Wasn't that God's timing or what? He realised if he did not waste a second less or more by crossing the road twice to walk under the shade, none of these would have happened in its proper time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all the alarming statistics of robbery and snatch theft. None of that sort went through his  mind only the peace of knowing God's perfect arrangement of interwoven circumstances. He only wondered if he would be raped. However, his brute strength would be more than capable to prevent that from occurring. But then again, he thought if someone would want to rape him, it would look like a compliment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well how would I know so many details?  Because if he did not survive, he would not be typing this now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7896466802338013827?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7896466802338013827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7896466802338013827&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7896466802338013827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7896466802338013827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/ride.html' title='The Ride'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7128336087721282610</id><published>2008-06-25T01:26:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T02:08:10.038+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Decalogue</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGE3_HPf8vI/AAAAAAAAAsM/EMeqo4tDSc0/s1600-h/10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGE3_HPf8vI/AAAAAAAAAsM/EMeqo4tDSc0/s320/10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215511400887087858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something just raced through my mind and I thought it worthy to be jotted down. See, there's this issue  with  America being tainted more and more with civil libertarians and they begun shooving a way the values which America was built on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In God we trust"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ask, "Which god exactly?". America threw away the Ten Commandments out of their schools and court houses. Is there still room for God's  governance and administration through  the boundaries He had set at Mount Sinai?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the Israelite slaves from Egypt were suddenly set free from captivity and slavery. The sudden rush of euphoria sweeps them up from their feet.  But as soon as reality sets in,  confusion and frustrations begin to surface.  The freed slaves found themselves  strangely free.  Free to own their own piece of land.  Free at last! But how are they supposed to react to their new found freedom? How are they to treat each other's property? Where do they work? How would they live?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With confusion, God provided the Law as a form of boundary, a remedy to their confusion. He gave them commandments to help them learn to live in freedom and remain there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Likewise, when we found our new freedom in Christ, no longer in bondage to sin, we find ourselves so very perplexed. Can i return to my sins? Can I still enjoy the evils I did?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are the Ten Commandments necessary? God, i doubt, is one Control-freak who says "No" incessantly to everything fun under the Sun. He's no wet blanket. When He said "No" to certain stuff, it was for our good. And when we don't adhere by it, He doesn't have to just smite us. Without Light there is Darkness,  and without God, is Judgment and Punishment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGE3uXa_jeI/AAAAAAAAAsE/ULc8TST42D4/s1600-h/deca.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGE3uXa_jeI/AAAAAAAAAsE/ULc8TST42D4/s200/deca.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215511113172487650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"No" to adultery&lt;br /&gt;"No" to stealing&lt;br /&gt;"No" to idolatry&lt;br /&gt;"No" to 7 others stuff...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How could it be that it is for our ultimate good? Its because if I do not obey these lines, Sin and all its destructive powers is just going to overpower me. I'm finished! We often forget that we live in a fallen world. Without keeping ourselves for God, we get so lost into slavery again. It is only in these rules are we are being kept free from sin. These commandments don't enslave. Disobeying them brings ultimate bondage and not freedom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7128336087721282610?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7128336087721282610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7128336087721282610&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7128336087721282610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7128336087721282610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/decalogue.html' title='The Decalogue'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGE3_HPf8vI/AAAAAAAAAsM/EMeqo4tDSc0/s72-c/10.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1701598993597967649</id><published>2008-06-24T23:54:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T01:20:27.473+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Short Lived Lie</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;" class="artemph"&gt;Bible Verse : &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A meeting of all the religious leaders was called, and they decided to bribe the soldiers (&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="artscript"&gt;Matthew 28:12&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;!--Bonus Reading: &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians%204:31-5:2;&amp;version=51;" class="arttext" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;span class="artscript"&gt;Ephesians 4:31-5:2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;--&gt;  &lt;p class="arttext"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGEsnjLqjYI/AAAAAAAAAr8/bjIUemN7zNM/s1600-h/nixon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGEsnjLqjYI/AAAAAAAAAr8/bjIUemN7zNM/s200/nixon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215498901442432386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;W&lt;/b&gt;atergate, one of America's greatest political scandals, led to the resignation of Richard Nixon and the imprisonment of some of his top political aides. To protect the president from impeachment, some of his assistants tried to create and maintain a cover-up. It lasted only three weeks. Chuck Colson, one of Nixon's most trusted aides, explains: "The first to crack was John Dean. He went to prosecutors and offered to testify against the President. After that, everyone started scrambling to protect himself. … Some of the most powerful politicians in the world—and we couldn't keep a lie for more than three weeks."&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="arttext"&gt;While in prison for his role in Watergate, Colson became a follower of Christ. What convinced him of the truth of Christianity? The implausibility of the disciples doing what he and Nixon's top aides couldn't do—successfully maintain a lie. These men had everything to gain by maintaining their silence. The disciples and earliest Christians apparently had nothing to gain by their silence—only persecution, marginalization and, in many cases, martyrdom. When Colson tries to persuade others of the veracity of the disciples' claims to have seen the risen Christ, he starts with Watergate. "The Watergate cover-up proves that 12 powerful men in modern America couldn't keep a lie—and that 12 powerless men 2,000 years ago couldn't have been telling anything else but the truth."&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="artbio"&gt;—J.P. Moreland in &lt;span class="artbiocite"&gt;God Conversation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="artbio"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="artbio"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGEsXLNI5DI/AAAAAAAAAr0/fnoQpjkZ5MU/s1600-h/fishermen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGEsXLNI5DI/AAAAAAAAAr0/fnoQpjkZ5MU/s320/fishermen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215498620128257074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="artbio"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1701598993597967649?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1701598993597967649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1701598993597967649&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1701598993597967649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1701598993597967649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/short-lived-lie.html' title='A Short Lived Lie'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SGEsnjLqjYI/AAAAAAAAAr8/bjIUemN7zNM/s72-c/nixon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6274856680521638377</id><published>2008-06-19T15:31:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T16:31:26.224+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Rights vs Grace</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFoXy7d1wRI/AAAAAAAAArk/4qkIP1FcI2w/s1600-h/hr.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFoXy7d1wRI/AAAAAAAAArk/4qkIP1FcI2w/s200/hr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213505682358518034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The thing about grace, is just so amazing. That without divine guidance, it is merely a 5 letter word. To understand grace, I must see to the fact that I, in my lowly state, do not deserve anything. Absolutely nothing. I, in my sinful state, is already condemned for eternal damnation. Yet, as simple as I’ve said it, the blood o Christ, the price of ransom paid at Calvary, has redeemed me for perpetual bliss, in decades no more than 5, to come. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The term grace is contrary to what values the world hold today. I have the right to this that and this and that. As A human, under the provision of European Convention on Human Rights, I am entitled to…&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_1_-_obligation_to_respect_human_rights"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 1 - obligation to respect human rights&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_2_-_right_to_life"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 2 - right to life&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_3_-_prohibition_of_torture"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 3 - prohibition of torture&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_4_-_prohibition_of_slavery"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 4 - prohibition of slavery&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_5_-_right_to_liberty_and_security"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 5 - right to liberty and security&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_6_-_right_to_a_fair_trial"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 6 - right to a fair trial&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_7_-_no_punishment_without_law"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 7 - no punishment without law&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_8_-_right_to_respect_for_private_life"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 8 - right to respect for private life&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_9_-_right_to_freedom_of_thought.2C_conscience_and_religion"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 9 - right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_11_-_right_to_freedom_of_assembly_and_association"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 10 - right to freedom of expression&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_11_-_right_to_freedom_of_assembly_and_association"&gt;&lt;span class="toctext"&gt; Article 11 - right to freedom of assembly and association&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_12_-_right_to_marry"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 12 - right to marry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_13_-_right_to_an_effective_remedy"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 13 - right to an effective remedy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_14_-_prohibition_of_discrimination"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 14 - prohibition of discrimination&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_15_-_derogations"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 15 - derogations&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_16_-_exemption_for_political_activities_of_aliens"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 16 - exemption for political activities of aliens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="toclevel-2"&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ECHR#Article_18_-_limitations_on_permitted_restrictions_of_rights"&gt; &lt;span class="toctext"&gt;Article 17 - prohibition of abuse of rights&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Analyse the few cases below…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Bogle v McDonalds [2002]&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Facts: Several claimants, mostly children, sued McDonalds for scald injuries sustained when they spilled hot coffee on themselves.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Held: Judge rejected the claims of defendant being liable for these injuries. They had taken reasonable care in the circumstances. They had no duty to warn customers expressly, that hot drinks would scald. The cups were also not defective within meaning of Consumers’ Protection Act 1987.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFoYIrGT8dI/AAAAAAAAArs/A0eK-QrjLVQ/s1600-h/human_rights_left.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFoYIrGT8dI/AAAAAAAAArs/A0eK-QrjLVQ/s200/human_rights_left.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213506055921988050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;And here's this guy &lt;a href="http://scottthong.wordpress.com/2008/02/14/socialist-welfare-unbelievable-jerk-of-the-year/"&gt;Mohammed Salim&lt;/a&gt;. A terribly slothful slutty attitude he has. I am sorry for him and ultimately the British government for having to feed his entire family [and still growing],  merely because he claims  his human rights above the rights of the general public. Read up!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Simple theology. World is sinful. I am sinful. But I am redeemed for Christ and Heaven. But I am not even dead yet. So I am still stuck on Earth. I am still living with sinful people in sinful condition. I am subjected to the world’s condition. Sin, sickness, sorrow still prevails. Only till kingdom come.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;To simply raise my fist and demand my rights, should never be my attitude. [&lt;i style=""&gt;Of course there is an exception to that, that you can still demand your rights for good food, good service etc. etc. which would commensurate to what you’ve pay&lt;/i&gt;]. Grace has it that the Creator of Heaven and Earth came 2000 years ago to die for me, when He should have had His glitzy crown on and sit on His comfy throne, sending lightning bolts as He pleases. That itself is sufficient. To demand Him to meet my needs for affection, real company, and comforts of life, is &lt;i style=""&gt;absurd&lt;/i&gt;. What more should I really ask for?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Grace is an acknowledgment that I deserve nothing and have no rights, yet it has come freely to me. An expression of love. My ability to switch a computer on, hitting on the tabs, had hot cuisine, is a result of grace, and I should not complain further. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6274856680521638377?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6274856680521638377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6274856680521638377&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6274856680521638377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6274856680521638377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-rights-vs-grace.html' title='My Rights vs Grace'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFoXy7d1wRI/AAAAAAAAArk/4qkIP1FcI2w/s72-c/hr.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2692652998381582470</id><published>2008-06-15T14:23:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T15:20:49.396+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Losing my ring</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFTCxSAGmNI/AAAAAAAAArU/8soQ6pGXkS8/s1600-h/steel_ring.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFTCxSAGmNI/AAAAAAAAArU/8soQ6pGXkS8/s200/steel_ring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212004820676155602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only when you lose something, you learn not to take it for granted, ever. I lost my ring because I misplaced it while I was occupying myself with something else. The ring that i wore on my left hand, has a significant place in my life. Uncomfortable wearing it at first, the ring meant to serve as a reminder of my allegiance to Christ, and more specifically, it is meant to remind me of keeping with sexual purity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When i removed my ring, to get occupied with something else, I saw myself as one with a double life. Keeping one for Christ, and another one to satisfy my own personal desires.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left my ring at the college. When I reached home, it just felt weird. I came home with a fragment of me, missing. I was anxious. Worried. I wanted my ring back. I just want to realign the distorted parts n my life. Parts where I've left God out, and keep him out of the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when i called the college receptionist, it took a long time for her to track my ring down. But alas, she found it. It was to my relief.  I learn that there is really no such thing as dating God. You stick with him for the rest of your life. its your marriage covenant with HIM.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2692652998381582470?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2692652998381582470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2692652998381582470&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2692652998381582470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2692652998381582470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/losing-my-ring.html' title='Losing my ring'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFTCxSAGmNI/AAAAAAAAArU/8soQ6pGXkS8/s72-c/steel_ring.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6316394528537233060</id><published>2008-06-12T14:39:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T16:10:36.492+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Image of Fatherhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYVFuEGZI/AAAAAAAAAq0/ZixQ_AoE7s4/s1600-h/otets+i+syn.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210902625691900306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYVFuEGZI/AAAAAAAAAq0/ZixQ_AoE7s4/s320/otets+i+syn.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know, that topic is so last year. In fact, i thought it to be a cycle. Same time last year, I was obsessed about the same things and even till this day, many of my peers just don't get whats in my mind and why the way I think is wired up so far from theirs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;While they talk about Warcraft and the latest stategy to kong-off the enemy, or about Anna Kornikova's demise at the clay court, or about the latest Britney Spear's rauchy video [and how they drool from the mouth and the southern necessity]...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alex is a world away, daydreaming about...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;roughhousing and bonding with kids&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;male lactation&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;water-birth for spouse&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;the most fashionable baby carrier&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;latest nutrition plan for baby.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYV0DaFTI/AAAAAAAAAq8/wlVXJYpQOOY/s1600-h/roof.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210902638129452338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYV0DaFTI/AAAAAAAAAq8/wlVXJYpQOOY/s320/roof.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;And you would most likely get the idea already. The best explanation I can ever offer is that I often dream of what I could not achieve in my younger days; a real father worthy of its definition. No, I'm not lamentating about how deprived I am and the sorts. But i could not help note that it has radically transformed my idea and image of fatherhood.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;My childhood is a dark past which I cannot be too ready to dive into, and search for the missing keys for my life. Physical abuse and alienation are too radical for me. They are the end of two extremes. One has a heavy undertone of physical violence in termsof contact, while the other is an atmosphere where I am dropped into, believing that I am a social-outclass, not a worthy acquaintance. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYV975HCI/AAAAAAAAArE/5NdOkMTNMrc/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210902640782285858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYV975HCI/AAAAAAAAArE/5NdOkMTNMrc/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The result is a growing hunger within, in search of that father who is not afraid of me and who I am. A father who would take me by his arms, hold me tight. Skin on skin. A father who is brave enough to fight the nightmares of my past, to hold my forearms and tell me "Everything's just gonna be fine".&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I question myself. Has my image of fatherhood evolved into some kind of homoerotic desire due to my loss of childhood? Is the society ready to accept fatherhood patterened in such close intimacy that homoeroticism is out of question? I really don't know. But I am ready to shift the social implied notions.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Ps. the pictures above are takn from a epic film by Aleksandr Sokurov entitled &lt;a href="http://http://www.bbc.co.uk/films/2004/06/30/father_and_son_2004_review.shtml"&gt;Otets I Syn &lt;/a&gt;[2003]&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6316394528537233060?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6316394528537233060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6316394528537233060&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6316394528537233060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6316394528537233060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/image-of-fatherhood.html' title='Image of Fatherhood'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SFDYVFuEGZI/AAAAAAAAAq0/ZixQ_AoE7s4/s72-c/otets+i+syn.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3051840869118581279</id><published>2008-06-07T13:14:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T13:53:46.482+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ancient Scribbles</title><content type='html'>As I was going through my trash of papers, in my bid to de-clutter after my Statistics paper, I came across an old piece of paper on which I jot down several point I wanted to blog on, last year. But it seemed that I could never find time then, to fit this post. Now, here it is with a little addition or two, with respect to the present circumstance!&lt;br /&gt;____________________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Oh, Lord our God! How majestic is your name in all the earth!"&lt;br /&gt; Psalm 8:1&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was like one of the best I've ever had. Went to Dalat after class to meet my dad whom I love affectionately. He's cool, man! Went around the school grounds  and saw his workplace. I can really tell that it is almost near to working in Heaven on Earth.  [presently: of course it is like working in Heaven on Earth provided you have no external commitments such as keeping an extra kid from out of campus i.e. me]...And the sea breeze? My heart can only scream "Euphoria"!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like in particular, how he took the trouble to introduce me to his every colleague that I am his son. That was awesome. Met a few of his missionary friends. I was overjoyed. God is good. Did I mention, I got to sit down at his kitchen munching away to Aunt Vi's cookies? Its a pity I got no picture of it. I would if only I remembered to bring my camera. I am just too enthralled and overjoyed. That was the trip. It was simple yet it had such pronounced impact on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I texted him&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Thank you for showing me around and introducing me to your colleagues. I appreciate that! Love meeting your buddies. Felt honoured, loved. Please thank Aunt Vi for the cookies. Big 'Thank You' for letting me enjoy your pressence. I'm not using email coz I'm fasting from Internet. thank you for blessing me. Tell me how I can bless you back. Love you lots, son."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;replied with,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I enjoyed the time 2. You dun need to do anything more than just being you. I love you for who you are. Not what you do. Dad."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes, I love you too...and more. Till now, my heart is still skipping than beat at its normal rhythm. I can't stp thanking God for all He had lined up for me today. this is definitely the best gift after the gift of salvation through grace. The words I read today reflected how I felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"What is man that you are mindful of him;&lt;br /&gt;The son of Man that you care for him?" &lt;br /&gt;Psalm 8:4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God,&lt;br /&gt;I can't thank you more for the blessings you've poured on me. Who am i that you are mindful of me to cheer me up in this way? I could not thank you more.&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Alex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;____________________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;And as for today, I regret to see how my wayward heart has fallen off its track. So frail and so susceptible to changes.  So prone to wander. I would give up  almost anything for restoration to take place again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3051840869118581279?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3051840869118581279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3051840869118581279&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3051840869118581279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3051840869118581279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/ancient-scribbles.html' title='Ancient Scribbles'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4589470503419720347</id><published>2008-06-05T19:43:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-05T21:19:22.549+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ideas to Open Theism</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEfniPbIRcI/AAAAAAAAAqs/kj-UubB9Kmo/s1600-h/michelangelo-god.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEfniPbIRcI/AAAAAAAAAqs/kj-UubB9Kmo/s200/michelangelo-god.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208386069519156674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hey, I'm attempting at a new field today, namely, theology. I am determined [yes, I am] to make theology, as un-boring as possible, unlike how the stereotype picture paints it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Open-theism is a set of beliefs that God does not know the future, is limited, has feelings and changes His mind according to our actions and omissions. H We are all over familiar with the idea of God being omni-*fill-in-the-blanks*. For the sake of convenience, most facts are are taken from Wikipedia. And when it is taken from Wikipedia, it will be stated so, as to distinguish my personal stand and what &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Open_theism"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/a&gt; has to offer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;Open theists maintain that some of the classical attributes of God are contradictory and unintelligible. The five main classical attributes are as follows:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Immutability – God cannot change in any way. Augustine argued that because God is immutable he cannot even speak in time, using created beings to utter eternal words. Immutability did not allow God to be altered in any way by time or by his own creatures.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Impassibility – God is without emotion.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omnipotence – God has all power, which includes complete sovereignty over all things.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omniscience – God has all knowledge, including all past, present, and future.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omnipresence – God is everywhere, or alternatively God is above the concept of space.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;I am not all for open theism nor am I in favour of the classical Grecian interpretation of God. As you see, some of our "Christian" doctrines that we hold today, are effects of some cultural influence. How so? The early Gentile Church lived in a predominant era of various flourishing school of philosophy. You have Aristotle-ism, ideas from Socrates, and the school of Plato from the post-Hellenistic era. As if its not enough, you have on the other hand, people who try to play around with God's word, and fixed up some certain new belief system i.e. Origen and Thomas Aquinas.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEflzfbIRaI/AAAAAAAAAqc/8ooaHGiFNqY/s1600-h/math_god.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEflzfbIRaI/AAAAAAAAAqc/8ooaHGiFNqY/s320/math_god.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208384166848644514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My stand is really simple. I am never going to subscribe 100% to what each philosopher has to say. I extract their idealogies and put it next to the Bible. If it matches, voila! If it doesn't, I'll discard it in no time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate the way how perverse human is in manipulating God's word to make it more acceptable and less offensive. The modern take would be the gospel of health and wealth. But lets look at the cultural background of the early Church. Living in the midst of pagans, they had in mind to spread the gospel as efficiently as possible. Good intentions, no doubt. But at the expense of watering down the true nature of God to match the beliefs of Greek society at that time?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In some areas, Thomas Aquinas has my favour.  Lets analyse the classical beliefs of God .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Immutability - God said He was/is/forever the same. That fits the Bible. Yet still, i do not believe that God is unable to speak. there were so many occasions in the scripture referring to God's audible speech, namely Saul's conversion, the burning bush experience, and etc. Stating that God cannot speak for himself, only denies Him of the sovereignty due unto him.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews%2013:8;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Hebrews 13:8&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts%209:4-7;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;Acts 9:4-7&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Impassibility - I could not agree that God is without emotions. As we are created in God's image, our blue copy is God. And if we are created with passion and strong emotions, how can we ever say that God is without emotion? [excluding people with static feelings]. With His jealous love, His rage burnt against Israelites who prostituted themselves to Moloch. Even Jesus wept.  But really, if God is unfeeling, would he even feel moved by the cries and prayers of his people?&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=2%20Chronicles%2028:9-10;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;2 Chronicles 28:9-10&lt;/a&gt;,  &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John%2011:35;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;John 11:35&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Sam%202:3;&amp;amp;version=31;"&gt;1 Sam 2:3&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omnipotence - Come on, this is not even debatable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omnipresence - God is indeed above all space. People ask if that is the case, why didn't he reverse time and chop off the tree of the forbidden fruit before eve was tempted? Simple. If He did so, it would be exploitation of His own powers. Abuse of own power is not holy. And we know that God is Holy. Therefore, that is His only boundary. Acting in capacity of holiness.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Omniscient - This is by far, the hottest question around. If God has the knowledge of the future and past, why even created Man when he knew he would sin? Why do we even need prayer to get God to sort some things out?  This is my interpretation, that He indeed is all knowing, in a sense that He know knows every possible options there is to our future, and how our choosing of one option would lead to another event as a consequence.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I am not all for open theism and some of its school of thoughts. For example, some claim God doesn't even know the future. Based on my common sense and the Bible as a whole,  why would God even be God if he doesn't know the future when some tarot card reader by the road side would be able to tell the future?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEfjzfbIRZI/AAAAAAAAAqU/OC6sOcu4Zng/s1600-h/god_at_his_computer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEfjzfbIRZI/AAAAAAAAAqU/OC6sOcu4Zng/s200/god_at_his_computer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208381967825388946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If God doesn't know the future, would we have prophecies from the Bible fulfilled? Would we know that the end is near? An exclusive embrace of open theism puts our perception of God's sovereignty as a feeble being. While that of the classical approach to God, would put God at a distance ignoring His proximity with relation to us, and claiming Him to be disinterested with our circumstances, completely detached.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ultimate source of interpretation is always the written word of God. Who better to ask than the Author himself? Smile, God isn't immutable nor impassible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4589470503419720347?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4589470503419720347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4589470503419720347&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4589470503419720347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4589470503419720347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/06/ideas-to-open-theism.html' title='Ideas to Open Theism'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEfniPbIRcI/AAAAAAAAAqs/kj-UubB9Kmo/s72-c/michelangelo-god.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6514284686718149171</id><published>2008-05-31T20:52:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T01:02:30.444+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Trust</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEGB45wF1xI/AAAAAAAAApo/prpiVoS8olQ/s1600-h/Trust.1_2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEGB45wF1xI/AAAAAAAAApo/prpiVoS8olQ/s320/Trust.1_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206585458792191762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing about trust lies in its &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;superfragility&lt;/span&gt; nature. Once broken, it takes a miracle like that which resurrected Lazarus from the dead, to restore.  Once a woman suspects her husband of having an affair, she'll send troops of espionage and that sort, trying catch hold of every information of his whereabouts. Every single action, would amount to suspicion. Can love thrive that way?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I despise people who breach my trust in them. Even more, when they are close to my heart. As a parent, I strive in future to never breach the trust they have in me. If I am to present the image of a God who is the ultimate loving Father, I should be prepared, to be someone who is reliable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a future father, what am I instructing my kids when I breach their trust? I am telling them its okay and normal to be a cheater, liar, conman. I am therefore, no different than the people out in the streets selling the latest tainted food produce of China, nor am I any different than the spammers who fill my junkbox with persuasions and offers to lengthen my club [I am very confident of myself, thank you very much].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when I decided that I can never trust another someone, I could do something more constructive instead. Be that someone whom others can re-learn turst again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to be the person whom others can say, "His words are worth as much as gold"&lt;br /&gt;Tough lesson from tough experience. Experience always sharpens character, no?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6514284686718149171?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6514284686718149171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6514284686718149171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/trust.html' title='Trust'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEGB45wF1xI/AAAAAAAAApo/prpiVoS8olQ/s72-c/Trust.1_2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7822866063167322586</id><published>2008-05-28T01:29:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-31T01:05:36.214+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lane v Holloway</title><content type='html'>As a side product of what my revisions are, this is a sample of one of the many cases I have to study. I know. But not all cases are as ridiculous as this is. Any way. Enjoy =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;On 21 July 1966, the peace of the ancient borough of Dorchester was disturbed. The plaintiff, Mr. Lane, who was a retired gardener aged sixty-four, was living in a quiet court just off the High East Street. Backing on to that court there was a café which was run by the defendant, Mr. Holloway, a young man aged twenty-three. The people in the court did not like the sound of a juke box from the café. They also objected because the customers relieved themselves at night in the courtyard. To meet their objection the defendant began to build some lavatories; but relations were strained.  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEAykZwF1vI/AAAAAAAAApY/tenz9Xz1Qu0/s1600-h/blood_cells+copy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEAykZwF1vI/AAAAAAAAApY/tenz9Xz1Qu0/s200/blood_cells+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206216770209568498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;On 21 July &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;1966, at about 11 o’clock at night the plaintiff came back from the public house. He stopped outside his door and started talking to his&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt; neighbour, Mrs. Brake. The defendant was in bed drinking a cup of coffee. His wife, hearing the plaintiff and Mrs Brake talking, called out to them: ‘You bloody lot.’ The plaintiff replied: ‘Shut up, you monkey-faced tart.’ The defendant sprang up and said: ‘What did you say to my wife?’ He said it twice.  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;The plaintiff said: ‘I want to see you on your own’, implying a challenge to fight. Whereupon the defendant came out in his pyjamas and dressing gown. He walked up the courtyard to the place where the plaintiff was standing at his door. He moved up close to the plaintiff in a manner which made him think that he might himself be struck by the defendant. Whereupon the plaintiff threw a punch at the defendant’s shoulder. Then the defendant drew his right hand out of his pocket and punched the plaintiff in the eye a very severe blow.  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;The defendant said: ‘Yo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEAxo5wF1uI/AAAAAAAAApQ/NM8NMFh9Ufs/s1600-h/monkey_face.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEAxo5wF1uI/AAAAAAAAApQ/NM8NMFh9Ufs/s200/monkey_face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206215748007352034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;u hit me first.’ The plaintiff said: ‘If I had two good pins you would not have done this. I shall make a case of it.’  &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;The plaintiff was taken to hospital. It was indeed a very severe wound. It needed nineteen stitches. He had also to have an operation. He was in hospital for a month. It made worse his chronic glaucoma. The surgeon of the Dorset General Hospital said that in his view the injury was caused by a hard object, not a soft one. He had never seen injuries of this kind caused by a fist. It was suggested that the defendant must have used a weapon or a hard instrument. But the judge found that that was not so: it was caused by a fist. Nevertheless it caused this very severe injury. The case went to the magistrates’ court…[and] the magistrates found the defendant guilty of unlawful wounding.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7822866063167322586?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7822866063167322586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7822866063167322586&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7822866063167322586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7822866063167322586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/lane-v-holloway.html' title='Lane v Holloway'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SEAykZwF1vI/AAAAAAAAApY/tenz9Xz1Qu0/s72-c/blood_cells+copy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6556487127457891195</id><published>2008-05-24T21:11:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-27T11:14:00.889+08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Use</title><content type='html'>There seems to be some air of contempt for God's creation these days. We humans think we are far superior and should dictate God on what should be created and what should be eliminated.&lt;br /&gt;Many people say we don't need... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt8DJwF1tI/AAAAAAAAApI/WgRFvbiEGJQ/s1600-h/black+plague.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204890187955820242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt8DJwF1tI/AAAAAAAAApI/WgRFvbiEGJQ/s200/black+plague.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;flies&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;rats&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;typhoons&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;and even lawyers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Now let me give my justifications.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;flies do need to exist to help pollinate certain fruits. The flies we so scorn at the market place, is a result of our negligence in failing to keep our environment clean.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;rats are here for you. Don't believe? They remind you about the importance of cats by &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt7PpwF1sI/AAAAAAAAApA/5dwY8vZON-o/s1600-h/terrorist+rat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204889303192557250" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt7PpwF1sI/AAAAAAAAApA/5dwY8vZON-o/s200/terrorist+rat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;erupting the infamous &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Death"&gt;Black Plague&lt;/a&gt; when you eliminate cats. They even put on the first concoction of SKII Essence before your mom applies it generously to her face. [nevermind laboratory mice are cousins to black rodents]&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Typhoons remind you of human frailty and the need to need divine help. I mean like seriously. Get real! You think they swirl around, hitting some countries for no reason? &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;yeah, lawyers. I know they don't deserve existence. But since its my prospective career, i better start acting like one. You need lawyers to remind you that there is no better place to spend your money than a litigation and some court trills.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt7PJwF1qI/AAAAAAAAAow/VLFDKGRSn0M/s1600-h/barristers_proceed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204889294602622626" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt7PJwF1qI/AAAAAAAAAow/VLFDKGRSn0M/s200/barristers_proceed.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, why I am exactly addressing the topic of contempt for God's creation today is because we think we are so smart, we don't need certain things in our body. Say, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonsils"&gt;tonsils&lt;/a&gt;. Many people concluded that they don't ever need tonsils in their life and they can move on perfectly fine without them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother had an intimate relationship with his tonsils. That was until his tonsils betrayed his trust and affection and went out with the doctor one day, when my brother had high fever and was on verge of dying of inflamation of his tonsils..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor took his tonsils out. He was rather sad at first. But being a jolly man, he soon got over it. We all thought life was going to be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204293681422915218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDldh5wF1pI/AAAAAAAAAoo/VYUqFGEZ2I0/s320/tonsil.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were so wrong. With his tonsils removed, he is free to eat whatever he wants. I asked mom why is it that with a minimal amount of chocolate that I eat, I have throat irritation and while my brother eats up my chocolate in secret yet abundantly, he does not have throat irritation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple, he does not have tonsils.&lt;br /&gt;Now you know why we need tonsils. To keep our glutton brothers from eating our chocolates.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6556487127457891195?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6556487127457891195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6556487127457891195&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6556487127457891195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6556487127457891195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/no-use.html' title='No Use'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDt8DJwF1tI/AAAAAAAAApI/WgRFvbiEGJQ/s72-c/black+plague.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7775599137095291389</id><published>2008-05-24T19:47:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T03:30:38.152+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot Meals</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDhq5ZwF1oI/AAAAAAAAAog/teB5Bk9_5gI/s1600-h/tiffin-lunch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDhq5ZwF1oI/AAAAAAAAAog/teB5Bk9_5gI/s320/tiffin-lunch.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204026903824291458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I retire to bed thinking how blessed I must be to be the envy of my college friends. Reason being, whenever we go out for lunch, I'll always be seen with my tiffin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see. My mom cooks everyday before she goes to work. And before I would leave for college, she would pack lunch for me. She believes no matter how expensive the price of food may be at the wet market, it will still ultimately be the best option for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always ask her, "Since father is away and you no longer have to cook elaborate meals of 3-4 dishes per day, why not eat out?". And her replies are often rhetoric.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;You think the outside food very clean issit?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You think those hawkers don't earn your money ar?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You think they bother to tail your beansprouts, and clean the fish guts out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You think they even wash your chicken before sending them into the wok?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I have seriously never put much thought into that. But thinking back on these questions, it was my mother's  passion for details that made me who I am. I am proud to say that when it comes to cooking, I am far more obsessed a perfectionist than her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to think that most mothers are the same. Career women or housewives, they all cook for their families. How erroneous I was.  Most of my friends' mothers are career women and therefore have no time for fancy kitchen work. Some of them send a few ingredients into a slow cooker and boil them into soups, fry an egg and expect their children to be fully content. Some just place extra allowance into the pocket for their children to eat out by their own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDhp45wF1nI/AAAAAAAAAoY/M2vEL3t6BmI/s1600-h/chifood.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDhp45wF1nI/AAAAAAAAAoY/M2vEL3t6BmI/s200/chifood.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204025795722729074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What freaks me out most is my high expectation of most housewives had to be sent crashing down to ground zero. I have a friend and during our casual talks we happen to talk about our daily meals. When he told me  his mother does not cook and they cater from outside, I kept quite quiet. I was clearly in shock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear housewives, if you aren't preparing hot cuisine on the dinner table for your families, why do you even exist in the first place? Why stay at home do nothing? Don't get me wrong, I am not saying this in a condemning tone. But lets get real. When will kids these days get to taste real home cooked food if its not going to be you preparing it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I open my tiffin in the midst of my company, I get a wow from them. Its not a mini wow, or a superficial wow. but a big genuine WOW. I always respond that its nothing much really. Some simple dish. Simple. Yet home-cooked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It gets me thinking. Why is it that most mothers are reluctant to cook? It is the amount of workload. To rise early, to clean the poultry, to nip the stems into bite sizes, and the list is almost endless. Why did my mom even bother cooking in the first place?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's simple. Its her expression of love.&lt;br /&gt;Happy Mothers' Day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7775599137095291389?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7775599137095291389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7775599137095291389&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7775599137095291389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7775599137095291389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/hot-meals.html' title='Hot Meals'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDhq5ZwF1oI/AAAAAAAAAog/teB5Bk9_5gI/s72-c/tiffin-lunch.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8526463816296721763</id><published>2008-05-22T20:51:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T22:33:29.930+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do Hard Things</title><content type='html'>I am trying lately to break my habit of hosting pity parties for my own sake. I think its been long since I've written about substantial stuff. Sure my feelings are substantial too, but lets put that aside.  I am telling myself, I must break this habit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People today are generally more cautious, suspicious and skeptical. We can't blame ourselves. If it wasn't for the effects of globalization, world wide trickery and global warming, we would not have turned out to be who we are today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDWDQZwF1kI/AAAAAAAAAoA/cEv6y58XNlM/s1600-h/church.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDWDQZwF1kI/AAAAAAAAAoA/cEv6y58XNlM/s320/church.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203209262310217282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know what I am typing here does not make much sense. But I am talking about the church culture.  The church today on a general scale, is hardly relevant. Sure we've been reinventing ourselves. We put up massive amplifiers, flashing bimbo lights, installed sophisticated audio systems, and elevated the usage of LCD projectors in the service. Why I am saying the church is irrelevant today?  She's keeping up with technology. She even armed herself with marketing strategy on how to sell the gospel quick and efficiently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the bid to reinvent ourselves, we have lost the one thing that should be kept constant. Our ability to do hard stuff. I mean HARD STUFF. We make sure our sanctuaries are well air-conditioned and our pews comfy. Sure, nothing wrong with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDWD5JwF1lI/AAAAAAAAAoI/TBbuOmMq28U/s1600-h/hillsong025_2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDWD5JwF1lI/AAAAAAAAAoI/TBbuOmMq28U/s320/hillsong025_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203209962389886546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point here is, we have all grown to be complacent people. We become too relaxed. We are afraid to break our sweat. We have all forgotten that the people of the early church had their sweat and blood sown into this faith we hold on to. We have forgotten that English Bible we hold in our hands, is a miracle right from the gunpowder plot by Guy Fawkes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have forgotten that our Kingdom is one made of violent man who rise up, to claim it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are afraid to venture out.&lt;br /&gt;We are afraid to experiment with stuff.&lt;br /&gt;We are afraid to let the younger ones participate in the administration.&lt;br /&gt;We are afraid of mistakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet, we hear of complains why our younger generation is maturing less rapidly. When a 18 year old Russian can pastor a church, an 18 year old Malaysian is still being baby-fed at Youth Service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have no right to complain.&lt;br /&gt;We are all to blame&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;for not rising up, to take the Kingdom of God by force. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;when we feel queasy about giving the young ones a chance at administration&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;when we think its impossible to minister to the red light district&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;when we think we are beyond competence&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;when we think only credentials on biblical studies indicate one's spiritual maturity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;when we decided its just to tough for us to make a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;Do hard stuff people!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And from the days of John the Baptist until the present time, the kingdom of heaven has endured violent assault, and violent men seize it by force [as a precious prize--a share in the heavenly kingdom, sought with most ardent zeal and intense exertion].    Matthew 11:12&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8526463816296721763?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8526463816296721763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8526463816296721763&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8526463816296721763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8526463816296721763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/do-hard-things.html' title='Do Hard Things'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDWDQZwF1kI/AAAAAAAAAoA/cEv6y58XNlM/s72-c/church.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8899027243281864022</id><published>2008-05-22T20:35:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T20:49:31.641+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Self Conceitedness</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Really one cannot be self conceited.&lt;br /&gt;I think I was something, but in painful reality, I am not.&lt;br /&gt;I think that I am a fairly good cook, but in reality, I am not.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes these things keeps us humble. &lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;We know that there is always someone more superior than us. And that is good. The wise are usually humble. And God exalts the humble people.&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;But does this apply when it comes to your identity?&lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I though I was a friend to someone, but in fact, I was never treated like one.&lt;br /&gt;I thought someone loved me, but in mere fact, I am just another acquaintance. &lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Can you blame me for my insecurity?&lt;br /&gt;Can I be blamed for being so clueless about who I am?&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;              &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I thought I was a son of God. Until my reality tells me otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;If the Bible is my Reality, is Reality and everything tangible around me, an Illusion?&lt;br /&gt;Yet I will trust the reality as it is, in the Bible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;If I say I am your son, and circumstances prove otherwise. Would I have the grounds to believe I am yours?&lt;br /&gt;If I say I am your son, does your busy schedule make you an absent father to me, or just another over-sympathetic friend?&lt;br /&gt;If I say I am your son, does my feeling matter to you?&lt;br /&gt;If I am your son…&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Am I yours?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8899027243281864022?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8899027243281864022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8899027243281864022&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8899027243281864022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8899027243281864022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/self-conceitedness.html' title='Self Conceitedness'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-9028327440664085894</id><published>2008-05-20T14:50:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T14:58:06.122+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hang Up Thy Foreskin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today's post is an excerpt [more like xerox-ed from this website written by &lt;a href="http://stuffgodhates.wordpress.com/"&gt;God&lt;/a&gt;. He's so cool. I can ROFL.] My friends should know that i am pretty obsessed about circumcision. I am. Here's a post to it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202350643976654946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ2WPNA0GI/AAAAAAAAAn4/xHzVOC4mTLg/s320/foreskin.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Prepare thyself, he who reads this, to tremble and quake before the Incredible Word of God, as written by THE LORD HIMSELF!&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ2GvNA0FI/AAAAAAAAAnw/WDgFII1y480/s1600-h/god.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202350377688682578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ2GvNA0FI/AAAAAAAAAnw/WDgFII1y480/s200/god.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of the many human body parts I intensely dislike, there is none I hate more than the foreskin. I believe this small stretch of penile tissue is responsible for turning more men away from Me, the Almighty Lord your God, than anything Lucifer has ever done.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, back when I was designing the first man, I decided to just make him look exactly like Me. Perfect in every way. I sat naked in the Heavenly Hall of Mirrors for a couple of hours and sculpted Adam’s body to look just like Mine. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I gave Adam a huge penis. With some balls. And a foreskin. And as you all know, that accursed foreskin made sex such a wondrous experience for Adam that he turned away from Me for that dirty-slut-whore Eve. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blame Eve, but I mostly blame the foreskin, with its thousands upon thousands of pleasure-inducing nerve-endings. Damn you foreskin!Despite all My best efforts, of the total number of penises worldwide today, 87% still have foreskins. This is a travesty! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I consider every male attached to those foreskins My forsworn enemy! I also consider any woman who has sex with an uncircumcised man equally culpable! As Myself as My witness, they will all burn with Eve in the fiery pits of hell!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, should you forsake foreskins and join Me in the crusade against them, I will give you My Help whenever you need it! Let Me tell you a little story. Many years after My experience with Adam, I met this guy Abraham. He seemed like a straight shooter, so I decided to make him and his descendants My Chosen People. Basically, this just meant I would hook him up with sweet manna from Heaven from time to time, and a few miracles here and there (as needed.) In exchange, Abraham and all his people had to promise to worship Me and keep the Sabbath holy, and you know, do all the little things that make Me feel super special. However, I still had serious trust issues thanks to Adam, and so I told Abraham he would have to prove his loyalty to Me - by chopping off his precious foreskin!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, as you might imagine, Abraham was pretty skittish about it. In fact, no lie, it almost queered the deal. But then I told him his whole household would have to do it too, and all his slaves, and all his descendants, and that seemed to make him feel a lot better. I think he just didn’t want to be the only no-foreskin-having-freak in antiquity. &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ1-PNA0EI/AAAAAAAAAno/nfvcMqiuuhs/s1600-h/abraham.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202350231659794498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 141px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 181px" height="188" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ1-PNA0EI/AAAAAAAAAno/nfvcMqiuuhs/s320/abraham.bmp" width="144" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So anyway, long story short, Abraham did it! He cut off a piece of his penis for Me. And so did all his descendents – to this very day! And I’m proud to say I’ve kept up My end of the bargain too. Whenever the Jews have needed My help, I’ve always been there for them 110%.&lt;a href="http://stuffgodhates.wordpress.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&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/810777374969015975-9028327440664085894?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/9028327440664085894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=9028327440664085894&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/9028327440664085894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/9028327440664085894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/hang-up-thy-foreskin.html' title='Hang Up Thy Foreskin!'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SDJ2WPNA0GI/AAAAAAAAAn4/xHzVOC4mTLg/s72-c/foreskin.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2419857725115037648</id><published>2008-05-15T17:52:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-15T17:58:24.845+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Identity</title><content type='html'>This post is by me, guest blogging for a friend of mine. I thought it would be best to have it here as well. =D&lt;br /&gt;______________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey people, this is Alex and I am Jonathan's friend, and I happen to be 3 years his senior. How we became friends, that is a very story you'll need to ask him. =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time, I am guest blogging for him for one specific purpose. Happy Birthday Jonathan! I am so sorry that you must lament on how often your birthday falls on exam weeks. LOL Thank God mine doesn't!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCv7R_NA0DI/AAAAAAAAAng/MP6ksj5-Dc4/s1600-h/Roswell_iso.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCv7R_NA0DI/AAAAAAAAAng/MP6ksj5-Dc4/s200/Roswell_iso.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200526481171730482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's topic is on identity. Who we really are and our search for identity. [Gosh, this is so Roswell] This question is synonymous with adolescence, our teenage days. We've spent approximately 15 years obeying what our parents dictate upon us. We became what they said we were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h6 align="justify"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;They don't know where they came from, they don't know what         they are, and they don't know what the future will hold for them.                                                                                                                                       Roswell TV series&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/h6&gt;For example, Xena [coz I cannot come out with a better name] believes she is musically talented because her parents said she was a brilliant child and invested upon her by sending her to piano classes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the other hand, we look at Zack who till this very day believes that he is a good-for-nothing black sheep of the family because his parents said that he will amount to nothing since he did not fare well in his studies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is Xena? What will she believe she is? A musically talented lass?&lt;br /&gt;Who is Zack? What will he believe he is? A good-for-nothing black sheep of the family?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact is, my friends, labels will most probably stick with us till the very day...[only God knows when]...we are healed of our wounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the stage of adolescence, more and more questions begin to resurface. And because of those resurfacing questions, our traditional parents may deem us a rebellious lot. Why must I hold joss sticks? Why must I not whistle/shake my leg at dinner table? Why do I have a curfew?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCv7LPNA0CI/AAAAAAAAAnY/I-RDV6tWrh4/s1600-h/identity.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCv7LPNA0CI/AAAAAAAAAnY/I-RDV6tWrh4/s200/identity.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200526365207613474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the biggest question is why I am who my parents thought I am to be? My heart goes out to people like Zack who will be led on to believe that he is a black sheep of the family, no matter how many times he question himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People like us, will die to experiment. We experiment new stuff to find our identity. Should I try cooking ? [I am glad I did] Should I do biochemistry in the future? Do I like to play musical instruments?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We go places to find our identity. We try to find them by mixing with our friends, colleagues, and other adults. The one pattern question that will pop up sooner or later is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I to my friends? Are they my friends? Am I their friend? Are we more than friends? Or do we have more than friendship love for each other?&lt;br /&gt;Who am I to my colleagues/college-mates/classmates? Am I more than just another object of their manipulation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I to my parents? Am I more than a dishwasher, butler or someone my parents gave birth to accompany them in their old age so they will be looked after?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all boils down to this.&lt;br /&gt;Who am I to You, God? Am I more than a servant to your service? Am I more than clay and dirt?  Is there something more to my DNA? Am I your son whom you love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You answer that question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Jonathan, this special post-message section is for you. You know and you saw your worth in your father's eyes. You saw how his face glowed to see you play passionately. You saw how he worshiped. And most of all, you saw how proud he was of you. He is. He is saying "I love you, Jonathan. And I know you can improve". We know you did. And you did well. You will do well. There you go, you saw who you are to your father! You are his very flesh and blood. His son. Have a blessed birthday. =D]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2419857725115037648?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2419857725115037648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2419857725115037648&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2419857725115037648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2419857725115037648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/identity.html' title='Identity'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCv7R_NA0DI/AAAAAAAAAng/MP6ksj5-Dc4/s72-c/Roswell_iso.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4484980480362348109</id><published>2008-05-11T23:41:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-12T01:12:44.661+08:00</updated><title type='text'>After-Wedding Effects</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCcb8vNA0AI/AAAAAAAAAnM/OS-p5wcLdbg/s1600-h/abuse.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCcb8vNA0AI/AAAAAAAAAnM/OS-p5wcLdbg/s200/abuse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199155025099673602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I have loads of friends who are now happily married. Many think it strange that I, at such a young age, should have friends well advanced than me in term of years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of them, is Karen and Sean Lau. I love them to bits, and they just got married a few months ago [Congratulations!!!]. And there's this old[but young] couple who reads this blog, and they are still happily married.&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, I have a pair of friends, Esther and Joseph who are on the verge of courtship. They are my friends from college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if we are all to refer to statistics, we know that divorce rates are not the one thing not to be reckoned with. In short, steeping-up divorce rate is one major issue we cannot brush aside. Why divorce? They cannot live together. Why can't they live together? They cannot tolerate each other. How? They break up into very, very intense verbal war.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would probably be one of the best people to tell you about spousal quarrels, having watched my family re-enact them. In fact, it probably didn't stay there, but only escalated into physical abuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCcbRPNAz_I/AAAAAAAAAnE/tu7lVmnaD0o/s1600-h/Couples.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCcbRPNAz_I/AAAAAAAAAnE/tu7lVmnaD0o/s200/Couples.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199154277775364082" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;None of us, would want to accept that in a long term relationship and this lifetime commitment, quarrels are bound to happen. They are as sure as the revolving Sun, and the changing phase of the Moon. Even if we do accept, we try our best into thinking it would highly unlikely to occur in the next few months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My thoughts struck me as I was differentiating equations. What will come out of my friends' relationship? Will they quarrel? Will they employ their hands? Will they reconcile? Picture slides began to shuffle through my mind. I saw my friends and their faithful spouses. They were quarreling. Each, quite fed up with one another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It hurts me to see couples getting mad at each other. It makes me feel afraid. It makes me grieve. I fear. I fear what will come out of it. Will they make it through?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a quarrel, there are only 2 possibilities. Your relationship either becomes more sour, or it begins to flourish from there on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw too much as a child.&lt;br /&gt;I am afraid. I really do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4484980480362348109?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4484980480362348109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4484980480362348109&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4484980480362348109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4484980480362348109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/after-wedding-effects.html' title='After-Wedding Effects'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCcb8vNA0AI/AAAAAAAAAnM/OS-p5wcLdbg/s72-c/abuse.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1282039550535174948</id><published>2008-05-07T14:28:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-07T14:53:37.248+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Glass of Hemlock</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCFRpiCDKhI/AAAAAAAAAm8/ms72XQkn_ZA/s1600-h/grail.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCFRpiCDKhI/AAAAAAAAAm8/ms72XQkn_ZA/s200/grail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197525218914150930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;You would know by now, that I enjoy making people feel guilty. Take for example, if X were to forget his appointment with me, i wouldn't call him until an hour later, and tell him that i waited for an hour for him. And just to top it up, I'll explain that in the near future, i would be unavailable due to mounting workload. In such a case, I do not only make a person feel guilty, but I make it impossible for him to make any amends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I posted a letter to X, a random letter, because I could not call him that often [phone bills are skyrocketing], and he doesn't read his emails and we won't be meeting each other except every Sunday [and if we are lucky, we would be able to exchange a few words].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he sms-ed me last night, asking me how I felt. I called him back and he wondered if lunch would work for both of us. I said yes. Any day. I added that lunchtime for me would only be from 1300 to 1400.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, i happen to wake up late and decided not to go to college since there wasn't much to learn. And at 1200 he sms-ed wondering if I could come out. I panicked. He must be waiting  at the college front gate. He really was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am overwhelmed with guilt. How could this have happened. This is exactly what happened to him. Previously I waited for him, and when he called to apologised, I said it was okay and completely normal [Fine, I lied!]. And now, everything is coming back to me. The overwhelming guilt of disappointing my beloved, and fear of not being able to make amends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sipping my own poison. Cheerio!&lt;br /&gt;The Hemlock that took Socrates for a ride.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1282039550535174948?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1282039550535174948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1282039550535174948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1282039550535174948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1282039550535174948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/sipping-my-own-poison.html' title='The Glass of Hemlock'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SCFRpiCDKhI/AAAAAAAAAm8/ms72XQkn_ZA/s72-c/grail.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-2490298554354255837</id><published>2008-05-03T19:27:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T20:08:46.085+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sensitivity Never</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBxVqSCDKfI/AAAAAAAAAms/XajOn2K79Q0/s1600-h/statue-of-liberty-.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBxVqSCDKfI/AAAAAAAAAms/XajOn2K79Q0/s200/statue-of-liberty-.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196122254962010610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I find that most people are less sensitive these days. Well, at least the people I am mixing with.  I don't know if its true that guys are  less sensitive. From my interaction with them, they seem cold and unmoved. It makes me think if I should make them cry, it would be like squeezing a tear out of Lady Liberty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fault with me is, I easily pick up signals from people. When you do something and motions a little more, my brains try to interpret your actions. And most of the time, it would mean....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alex, you are ugly/stupid/uncool/fat/gay and therefore I will not go near you, and i reject you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tralala... you just made my day! How could I ever thank you? I must be eternally grateful to be blessed with friends to be rejected by, and a brain that jumps at a slight touch of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBxUKiCDKeI/AAAAAAAAAmk/pfiJ98DipSk/s1600-h/merry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBxUKiCDKeI/AAAAAAAAAmk/pfiJ98DipSk/s320/merry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196120609989536226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It looks so much like a merry-go-round. With the exception, there's nothing merry to it. I was contemplating about shutting oneself in. To put up a front. I was told that this is being self conceited. But then again, what choices do I have exactly? Happiness is a choice. I make the choice to be happy. To smile when I enter a room. To smile again when I greet&lt;br /&gt;my friends. To smile when I leave. Don't you love smiling? I know I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;=D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-2490298554354255837?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/2490298554354255837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=2490298554354255837&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2490298554354255837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/2490298554354255837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/sensitivity-never.html' title='Sensitivity Never'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBxVqSCDKfI/AAAAAAAAAms/XajOn2K79Q0/s72-c/statue-of-liberty-.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-431237356758454288</id><published>2008-05-02T23:03:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T01:02:09.597+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Eternal Sunshine On A Spotless Mind</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtH4iCDKbI/AAAAAAAAAmM/WZp6Dvc2uIM/s1600-h/sunshine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtH4iCDKbI/AAAAAAAAAmM/WZp6Dvc2uIM/s320/sunshine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195825631635646898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sometimes, and many a times, people keep asking me to invite them into my thoughts. But I am one reluctant arsehole. Why am I reluctant? I am foremostly very skeptical of how people perceive my thoughts from their perspective of eternal sunshine in their spotless mind, in comparison to my past of marred memories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked me how I am. He wanted to know how I feel. But how am I to tell him the truth? How am I ever going to tell him that I am feeling like the under of some birdcage [ie. shit], when it seemed as if he can't be doing anything about it [except praying]? When will people finally realise that saying "I'll pray for you. I'll pray for you" seem like some endless drumming originating from an ancient Tibetan monastery?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;blockquote style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. Show me your faith without deeds, and i will show you my faith by what i do.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                       James 2:16-18&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtHmyCDKaI/AAAAAAAAAmE/nydwLDTNRKU/s1600-h/hot-coffee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 271px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtHmyCDKaI/AAAAAAAAAmE/nydwLDTNRKU/s320/hot-coffee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195825326692968866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Because he was/is/will be busy, he is incapable of attending to my needs. Because he is constantly busy, things will less likely to work for any of us. Our appointments were dashed. And i probably would not want any more after the failure of this week. My exams are near. I can't afford to rant more. The table yells for my name, and I must heed the call. To study and put him behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a sudden urge today to catch up on him through the telephone. We had a chat. It was some form of civility. We didn't talk about the deep things. I wouldn't want to. Its pointless to talk about things that he couldn't mend. It really is. And it hurts me to think of the things he would only be able to hear from afar.   It seemed like the more i talk to him, the more depressed I get.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I just want to break away from reality. Its too painful to live in.  And he said its a pity we both lived in a parallel world where we are both constantly  busy, but respectively on our own track. He is busy with budget meetings, basketball season and what not. And I am busy with my preparations for my Cambridge A Levels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate it when people break their promise. I hate it when they don't turn up during appointments, and I would have to whip up excuses. I hate it when i have to compromise with my schedule, make allocation for a meet up with him, knowing that I would be disappointed. This was the last i appointment I would have with him until late June. No. I will not live this life.  I refuse to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtHPSCDKZI/AAAAAAAAAl8/k093gClm35E/s1600-h/IntersectionAngle1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtHPSCDKZI/AAAAAAAAAl8/k093gClm35E/s320/IntersectionAngle1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195824922966043026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Well Sir, I don't think so. We are both straight lines, which once crossed paths, and now deviate further and further apart. Congratulations Alex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen here Satan,&lt;br /&gt;Is this your strategy to always hit me when my exams are near? You always had to. Last time you did it with Vincent. And now you just had to ruin it all. I will have no sympathy for you. And i will be giving you the loudest mocking laughter when Christ comes to defeat you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ps. I am so hurt, I do my dance in the round, so clap your hands.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-431237356758454288?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/431237356758454288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=431237356758454288&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/431237356758454288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/431237356758454288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/eternal-sunshine-on-spotless-mind.html' title='Eternal Sunshine On A Spotless Mind'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBtH4iCDKbI/AAAAAAAAAmM/WZp6Dvc2uIM/s72-c/sunshine.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4521926027878120941</id><published>2008-05-01T20:11:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T01:02:34.075+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tea and Sympathy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBnIRCCDKYI/AAAAAAAAAl0/hE4ODcf-z-E/s1600-h/t+and+sympathy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBnIRCCDKYI/AAAAAAAAAl0/hE4ODcf-z-E/s320/t+and+sympathy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195403840077375874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a big mistake that I made, and it sort of backfired on me. I am sorry that i ever made that error, that it should wound so many hearts. Oh, sorry, that was exaggeration. But you get what I mean. The fact remains that I wounded some hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sympathy is an elusive abstract word. It is powerful yet humbling. It is capable of building a nation and bring a dynasty to an end. Sympathy keeps us humane. Sympathy helps me to remember how blessed I am. Sympathy reminds me to be grateful for all I have. Sympathy helps me to keep in mind that we are all just frail beings and the world is not a perfect one. Not at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in no way condemning sympathy, or our capacity to sympathise. Our ability to sympathise, moulds us into a higher being. A being who is sensitive to the needs of the people around him, persuading him to respond to the call of service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, we all ought to have the Sympathy-Factor in us. At least, for the benefit of the under-privilege,  the poor, hungry,  homeless, neglected and abused.  Acting out of sympathy, produces a selfless character.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet why am I complaining? Look here. I don't know if there are people out there who look at Jesus hanging on a cross in front of them, and say...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Blimey, that is so uncomfortable. Ouch, I'm so sorry for you O' Jesus. No justice was done to you. I sympathise with you...Oh cool, let me love you. I am giving you my love because no one loved you enough to be beside you when you were crucified, except that John and a sprinkling of relatives while the others just wanna see you stark naked, growling in agonizing pain. It must have been tough on you But its alright, I'll love you, and you dun have to be sad."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My God, and my Lord, what blasphemy is this? Its not like there's any theological flaw. But here's the point. Your sympathy is not appreciated.  I'm sorry but I sometimes want to shout at you  that I do not need your sympathy. It hurts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jesus needs none of our sympathy. What is worse still, is our sympathy-motivated-love. Its worth nothing. None of us should ever love out of sympathy.  When I look at my gay friend,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I should not sympathise on what he has to go through. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I should not pity him for what terrible childhood he has&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I should not feel sorry that he has a father worth lesser than a penny.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I should not sympathise with him on the deviated struggles he has to go through and the rejection he faces&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I should not feel sorry for his inability to love, trust and care for others again.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I made a mistake. I had sympathy in my love towards a gay friend of mine. Not realising that i am descending on a similar dry dusty road, I loved out of sympathy, not realising how i must have hurt him. How, under the cloudy skies, did I ever come to learn about the pains of being loved out of sympathy? I have it right now.  =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Jesus wanted to be loved just as He deserves my love and adoration, I wanted to be loved for who I am, and not what turbulent I had been through. Don't love me because&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am rejected by my peers&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am having homosexual struggles&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my father said I am a burden to him&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my youth pastor thinks I am not to be reckoned with. [oh wait, he hardly thinks of me]&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Don't trade our love for tea and sympathy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Jars of Clay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4521926027878120941?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4521926027878120941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4521926027878120941&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4521926027878120941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4521926027878120941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/05/tea-and-sympathy.html' title='Tea and Sympathy'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBnIRCCDKYI/AAAAAAAAAl0/hE4ODcf-z-E/s72-c/t+and+sympathy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4339619920619171019</id><published>2008-04-24T11:13:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T01:51:07.045+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Birth Anniversaries</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBADFSCDKXI/AAAAAAAAAls/Sh5j_gPl4qw/s1600-h/BBigBirthdayCake.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192653759632845170" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBADFSCDKXI/AAAAAAAAAls/Sh5j_gPl4qw/s320/BBigBirthdayCake.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; There is one thing that i am not sure if I should fancy or not. Should i be proud to share the same birthday as Shakespeare or should I not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before any of my negatives get hold of me, I must state with as much enthusiasm that i can muster, that my birthday was a happy one. Many of my simple friends, whom i though to have the least regard for me, began sms-ing me at 0000 on 23rd of April. Its really sweet of them. And one of my close friends, Yugesh, actually took me out for a milkshake at Sunrise Tower. While another girl, bought me a banana pie. And Jamie even dedicated a post to me &lt;a href="http://lovingares.blogspot.com/2008/04/for-perasan-guy.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. I can't really complain much. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When i entered class for literature, the lecturer decided to celebrate Shakespeare's birthday by having a piece of cake. And pity me, i got some reprimands for saying something cheeky [they are not off coloured nor crude jokes]. She made it clear that it was Shakespeare's birthday and not mine, that they are celebrating. Well that kinda hurt me. But i insisted that it must bring me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Quoting her, she said, we should all give Shakespeare some honour and glory and celebrate Shakespeare. Photographers came, and recitals were done. And i had to present a talk on Shakespeare's life. Going to such extend to honour some dead playwright, must have astounded me. This looks more like idolatry than not. Sometimes, I just wonder if people care more for the living that the dead. Let's care for the dead, and abandon the living.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I really want to forget such issues, and try to think of the good things. Feeling good is really a choice. I made the choice to feel good. To be contented with the people who cared to sms me and send me messages. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why bother about my other friends who had lunches bought by a group of friends, presents, and surprises? Why bother about the 2 men whom I loved most, who forgotten all about my birthday? Doesn't quite make sense that i should bring myself down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to remember how great i made them feel on their birthdays, showering them with love and expect them to do the same with me. I need to adjust and reform my mentality, to accept that real love gives, without expecting any in return. While i love them, i must not expect them to love me back the way i loved them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank God. Some people can't even celebrate their own birthdays. I should be thankful and not be ungrateful. Besides, i had a sponge cake later that evening...My biological father bought it thinking it was a black forest cake. He got cheated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just want to be thankful, for the little things that i have, and not crave and desire for more. To have less expectation is to have more bliss. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ps.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was so happy on my birthday that i actually sang "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" aloud. Oh, did I tell you Jamie dedicated a post to me? I am so trilled!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4339619920619171019?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4339619920619171019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4339619920619171019&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4339619920619171019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4339619920619171019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/birth-anniversaries.html' title='Birth Anniversaries'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SBADFSCDKXI/AAAAAAAAAls/Sh5j_gPl4qw/s72-c/BBigBirthdayCake.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-7153389547687685580</id><published>2008-04-20T16:20:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-20T21:04:56.049+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tough Cookie</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAs--U6JEoI/AAAAAAAAAlk/fuYc5dme078/s1600-h/cookie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAs--U6JEoI/AAAAAAAAAlk/fuYc5dme078/s320/cookie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191312235960013442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Fool: Nuncle, let me ask thee. Doth thou givest a toothless granny a tough cookie?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"&gt;King: Surely not.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"&gt;Fool: Thou art foolish, thy knave, thy blockhead. thou better art accustomed for my coxcomb. As the granny cans't biteth the cookie, she can lay her head on it. And when it causes her headsores, she can put it on her sandals, that when she walketh on it, her reflexology point is invigor'd. Mark this, nuncle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dialogue above is authored by yours truly, inspired by the horrible English i had to study  in Shakespearean  works, in particular, King Lear.  Its annoying.  But for the benefit of my readers, i will provide some vocabulary feeds here:&lt;br /&gt;Nuncle = uncle&lt;br /&gt;knave = a more derogatory term for a fool&lt;br /&gt;blockhead = stupid&lt;br /&gt;coxcomb = the court jester/Fool's hat&lt;br /&gt;Take note of the background setting as well. In the olden pre-Medieval times, English kings have a special someone by their side to joke and fool around with him. Since no one dares to challenge him and talk nonsense to him, a fool is employed to fill in that vocation. However, when the fool goes overboard in insulting the king, he would be firstly warned with the whip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There you go. A little entertainment for the day, the Shakespearean style. But here's the didactic side. You don't give a tough cookie to a granny. She can't eat it. Pity her. She's toothless. And when she can't eat it, the best purpose it will serve is to trample on it. Its rough surface will provide good reflexological soles, benefiting her health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAs7_E6JEnI/AAAAAAAAAlc/je5QmrPtag4/s1600-h/cookiemons.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAs7_E6JEnI/AAAAAAAAAlc/je5QmrPtag4/s320/cookiemons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191308950310031986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The real stuff i really want to pin up here, is about words. Words are versatile in a way, is you were to use them in a situation, it may be comforting, and when used in another, it is destructive. I have met people who offer me loads of advice, and they are all very well meaning people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there will be times, these advices, don't seem like one. they sound confrontational and insensitive. And on your part, you would feel as if it is very discourteous, to blatantly reject them. Then it becomes more like being forced to chew on a tough cookie.  And when you can't swallow it, you think harder and harder, critically analyzing yourself.  Just when your frustrations reach the peak, you throw that cookie on the floor and start stamping on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its been long since i remember that advices and opinions are solely discretionary, and i am not bound to  take precedent after them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-7153389547687685580?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/7153389547687685580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=7153389547687685580&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7153389547687685580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/7153389547687685580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/tough-cookie.html' title='Tough Cookie'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAs--U6JEoI/AAAAAAAAAlk/fuYc5dme078/s72-c/cookie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3965091706106600071</id><published>2008-04-13T18:00:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-13T19:41:23.520+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dissecting Verbal Assaults</title><content type='html'>Alex, you should know by now that you are already a burden to us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHunThp-VI/AAAAAAAAAks/EL6NFhXhNtY/s1600-h/Fl-Figs+FW.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHunThp-VI/AAAAAAAAAks/EL6NFhXhNtY/s200/Fl-Figs+FW.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188690604731267410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Its a good lesson i learned today. To be careful in everything I say, knowing there is power in my words. Why? When Jesus spoke into a fig tree, it withered away.  No, I  am not contemplating of  speaking my biological father into severe dehydration, though it sounds so enticing. But I am a man of conscience, and i do not want to be the cause of his death. He is, still after all, my biological father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dang, the pics are featuring juicy figs...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People often preach.&lt;br /&gt;"Why can't you just forgive and forget?"&lt;br /&gt;And most times, i feel as if their accusations fall heavily on me.  Its not like i dun forgive and forget. No one is too stupid not to forgive  another fellow human [or at least a beast, if he/she has already transformed into one], especially if it is one of the requirements to enter Heaven's gates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then again, did it ever occur to your mind that, as much as I desire to forgive, the raw and tender wound refuses to heal on its own? Its really not my fault if the wound refuses to heal itself. I don't regenerate like Wolverine does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHvDThp-WI/AAAAAAAAAk0/5wQU0OwXZFg/s1600-h/trigo.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHvDThp-WI/AAAAAAAAAk0/5wQU0OwXZFg/s320/trigo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188691085767604578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And secondly. I am not that cuckoo that i hate someone for no apparent reasons. Though differentiating trigonometry has already done some kind of mental damage to my brains, the effects aren't still that severe. YET&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My  Literature lecturer, Mrs. Hatia once said, as she was analysing King Lear's curses on his ungrateful daughters; Never hurt a person to the extend he despises you deep in the heart. For because of that, you are under a curse. Hatred will result in curses even if they are not intentional or verbally expressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHqeDhp-UI/AAAAAAAAAkk/IOrXPyWT4ZE/s1600-h/lear.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHqeDhp-UI/AAAAAAAAAkk/IOrXPyWT4ZE/s200/lear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5188686047770966338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, the author  of the statement at the start of the post, was  none other than my biological father.  You can convince yourself that it might slip off his tongue, etc etc.  But the fact  stands firm, that accidents are no excuse.  The damage is done. He will have to be accountable for his words one day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if i should be proud of myself or what. Upon those very words, i walked out of the door without disrespect. No words, no snide remarks, no retaliation, nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing can come out of nothing&lt;br /&gt;- King Lear, William Shakespeare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I trust that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3965091706106600071?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3965091706106600071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3965091706106600071&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3965091706106600071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3965091706106600071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/dissecting-verbal-assaults.html' title='Dissecting Verbal Assaults'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SAHunThp-VI/AAAAAAAAAks/EL6NFhXhNtY/s72-c/Fl-Figs+FW.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-34072744945879734</id><published>2008-04-08T00:03:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-08T00:52:59.150+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fear, your Co-Inhabitant.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_pQqyQ2EVI/AAAAAAAAAjc/BsOqtwJYmUU/s1600-h/factor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_pQqyQ2EVI/AAAAAAAAAjc/BsOqtwJYmUU/s320/factor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186546616847700306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The blogpost's title should be read "Fear, your Co-Inhabitant", and not "Fear your Co-Inhabitant". Because for the kazillionth time, Alex does not endorse an unmarried couple living together pretending to be married couples. This false pretense will lead to unwanted pregnancies, no doubt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, i wished i would have kept more closely to the track but just as Chulan said, the beauty of Alex lies in his random statements, influenced by various factors, namely the volatile weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever lived in fear? Lets be specific. Fear that relates to your relationship with the people around you. People whom you loved and hate [&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;or love to hate or hate to love&lt;/span&gt;], people whom you work with [&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;grudgingly&lt;/span&gt;] and people whom you hold to be your trusted colleague [&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who happened not to be that trustworthy after all&lt;/span&gt;].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People are complicated. So, lets get to the point. Do you have any of those fear that involves people? I know I do. I have a fear of not being able to please someone. For many years. I have been subject of the fear of displeasing my biological father even to this day. I guess being Chinese doesn't really mean that Chinese all over the world adhere to the Confucian guidelines on being filial to my parents. [&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I mean, my brother is the perfect example. He can yell at my biological father and order my mom around. As a Chinese, i would have turn my face away in distaste...but you get the idea. Not all Chinese these days are really that filial.&lt;/span&gt;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whenever my biological father speaks a word, it must be done. Unless i want undesirable consequences to trail by my back. If he drops a hint for me to clean the toilet, i must disappear into the cubicle at once. He just wants things to be done at this very instant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was haunted since my childhood days, to see his wrath and his anger breathing down my neck, nearly taking my life away. On an occasion when my brother was snatching a bicycle from me, we quarreled and without further due, he threw the  bicycle up onto the roof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are nights, and often still, when my computer breaks down and refuses to cooperate, he would shake me up to work on the computer for his urgent 'business'. Money was always matter of life and death for him. And so, it has become one to me as well. Always the results of my brother's meddling with the computer, i suffer the consequences for having the computer placed in my room, simply because my brother refuses to have it in his room. I can't blame him. He's being smart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many nights, often deep into the ungodly hours of the wee morning, he would need me to do a chore or two for him, and would make me wake up, just to get it done instantly. And always out of fear, i consent. It seemed that the rebellious switch has been turned off long ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"I will honour my father and mother which is the first commandment with a promise- that it may go well with me that i may enjoy long life on earth." Ephesians 6:1-3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The main motivation of me being a son, always ready on my father's call is never about living  a long life. I mean no offense, but if Heaven permits,  I rather die young.  That is with a condition that my death does not cause inconveniences.  But i am certain in many ways that my death would do the world more good than harm. One less carbon emitter. In fact with the way my life is working now, I don't wish to live long.  Death be a boon, a benison to my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_pQdyQ2EUI/AAAAAAAAAjU/jyqcLBbn9_U/s1600-h/fear.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_pQdyQ2EUI/AAAAAAAAAjU/jyqcLBbn9_U/s320/fear.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5186546393509400898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it works on till this very day. How i deal with certain people. I happen to have a youth director who coincidentally shares the same name as my biological father. He has some anger issues,  and being a bloody fool i am, I cannot help but to take his criticism and careless remarks personally. I will never remember what he said, but i will remember what the effect it has on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blockheaded Boy! Whoever on earth ever ask you to hold on to the hurts of the past? So much as I don't want to, but i cannot help it. As much as I let go of it, it won't let me go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember as my youth director placed me to work building up a library, I got things done as fast as i could, for fear of his admonishing.  Somehow, what i ever did is never enough. Last Sunday, I thought i would be introducing the books to the youth, but he said all he wanted me to do, is to set up a table by the side, and shut it down later.  Well, forgive me but i have a more important task down at children's ministry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recalled as my youth director called for prayer for youths who are at National Service, to pray for their safety and their spiritual walk. I recalled how i took trouble to write a letter from the camp, pass it to my parents, over to a friend and hand it to him. But to my dismay as i learned, it was never read aloud at youth meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lived my life, to learn that i can never truly satisfy others, and truly please them. I tried so hard to earn my father's love which was all showered on my brother. I tried working as hard as possible to earn top grades. But nothing was ever enough. I tried to earn my youth director's affirmation, but none was ever reserved for me. For everyone but me. Am i looking at Christianity at the face?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always lived in fear of not being able to please people. Why?&lt;br /&gt;Fear, my Co-Inhabitant.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-34072744945879734?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/34072744945879734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=34072744945879734&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/34072744945879734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/34072744945879734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/fear-your-co-inhabitant.html' title='Fear, your Co-Inhabitant.'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_pQqyQ2EVI/AAAAAAAAAjc/BsOqtwJYmUU/s72-c/factor.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3860114498966928352</id><published>2008-04-04T00:22:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T03:05:49.771+08:00</updated><title type='text'>FITNA</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_UqTiQ2ETI/AAAAAAAAAjM/Wu1UCJRO7ZA/s1600-h/islam-death-rights.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_UqTiQ2ETI/AAAAAAAAAjM/Wu1UCJRO7ZA/s320/islam-death-rights.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185097061090332978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thoughts just come in drizzles over and strikes in bolts of lightning, simultaneously. I mean wow. Totally awesome. I have never had so many thoughts running like some torrent past my brains, when i am calm and collected that is. Its a different story when i am down with turbulent emotions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So about this FITNA video thingamajig. I try not to sound so grim and serious. I think I've been writing this way for far too long  over the past few months.  But hey, we can't escape from these issues and just brush them over can we? It will affect us in a way or another. All the more, when you are a non-Muslim living in Malaysia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try not to generalise things here. One thing to note. I have a few awesome friends. Malay friends. Muslim friends, which to my dismay, are better mannered compared to some Chinese  riff-ruffs.  Azhan!!! You hear me? Hi! *waves hand*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But over the years, the 19 years I've settled in Malaysia, I have always seem Muslims as majority-cally  very fanatical about their faith.  Lets draw a fine line here.  You can be passionate about your faith.  Nothing wrong with that. Knowing how my God died so I can be free, is my reason to be passionately in love with Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being fanatical is a whole new story altogether. Its about shoving your beliefs down people's throat. Now, excuse me, I'll try not to be emotional here, cause i feel like going over into those clips and shove feces into their mouth and erode their genitals. Chauvinist pigs!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seems like I feel for these people. People who are subjugated, oppressed and suppressed by those Pigs. Women, gays, children. What happened to being a man and his role to protect the females? Go castrate yourself, you lost your masculine role!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Arguments will fly, and fly violently. If you are a Muslim who think that Muslims have the prerogative to exercise their faith, think AGAIN. Rights, often enough, are enforced at the expense of another being's rights. When you execute that woman/gay/offender you robbed them of their right to live, to exercise your right to practise your faith. Your biased, falsely-interpreted, chauvinistic, vulgar, bovine, claypot-headed faith!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_UqNSQ2ESI/AAAAAAAAAjE/AMA6Z0775Bw/s1600-h/kkkkkkkkkkkkk.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_UqNSQ2ESI/AAAAAAAAAjE/AMA6Z0775Bw/s320/kkkkkkkkkkkkk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185096953716150562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People, answer me! Who made you God over us that you take the law into your hands and execute people as you please? Vatican was wrong in such matters, and their deeds will be remembered. Every tear a martyr cries, is bottled up. Every drop of blood he shed, is poured out as a self-less, loving sacrifice for a self-less God. God, nevertheless, will settle His score with the Vatican when the time comes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bred in a land where people are constricted by the sensitivity they value,  I learn to place appreciation for freedom of speech. Provided your argument is not baseless and non-substantial, speak on.  Why fear the facts? Have we all gone cowards? You gibber and bellow to instill fear in those who speak facts. Your thundering calls for death, calls for none other than acknowledgment of your own folly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Muslims [radical ones] made themselves such a stench in the face of society. Their desire to kill in honour, set women up in flames for seeing a male/not wearing &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;burqa&lt;/span&gt; while they hid themselves in the corner watching sexy Jewish porn on internet. And again, you call the Jews pigs and monkeys. It seems to me you enjoy watching them, fantasizing about them to your cloud nine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It gets me thinking. Why no one bothers refuting the verses used in the film FITNA if they claim it is&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; fitnah&lt;/span&gt;, and untrue? My friend Scott puts it this way: we live in a society of moderate muslims who called for a protests and demonstrations, denouncing the Dutch. for the facts laid down in FITNA but not a single word is being said against the people video-ed in the clip. People Being beheaded and slashed. Is your silence a consent to the hedious actions of radical Muslims ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3860114498966928352?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3860114498966928352/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3860114498966928352&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3860114498966928352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3860114498966928352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/fitna.html' title='FITNA'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R_UqTiQ2ETI/AAAAAAAAAjM/Wu1UCJRO7ZA/s72-c/islam-death-rights.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1585087918993131980</id><published>2008-04-03T09:39:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T10:09:44.210+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Human Understanding</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Do not let the Word of God depart from you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jesus&lt;/span&gt; said&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"In Me, you are made complete"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;What you are going through and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;what i am doing is beyond human reasoning.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;Someday you will understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Prayer Meet 2/4/08&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1585087918993131980?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1585087918993131980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1585087918993131980&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1585087918993131980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1585087918993131980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/04/human-understanding.html' title='Human Understanding'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4297538165921766939</id><published>2008-03-30T01:39:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T03:55:52.402+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Anatomy of Melancholy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-6dUCQ2EPI/AAAAAAAAAiw/jBLeYwiQ-jQ/s1600-h/anatomyofmelancholy04.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-6dUCQ2EPI/AAAAAAAAAiw/jBLeYwiQ-jQ/s320/anatomyofmelancholy04.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183253188680487154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No i'm sorry, I am not commenting on Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. It gets me thinking. Do people who frequent this blog think i am a heavy depression patient, to the extend that he needs to write all gloomy tales of no joy and perpetual frown.  I mean I pray not. I don't even know if its the homosexual tendencies kicking in or what not. But it sure is sickening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to feel all negative in me. It is a total turn-off for people. i mean like who in their right mind would want to befriend some sulk machine or what not? I don't, but i'll love that person more simply because he needs it. And he needs a great deal of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am enjoying the animosity i have now, with the exception that few people still know i blog on this site. It just gives me more freedom to write about how I really feel and not fake some joy and happiness up to show you how perfect my life is. I assure you as of the reality of Heaven and Hell, my life is beyond perfection, thank you very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last thing i need in my life ever, is to know what i am not supposed to become. For the past 18 years of my life which i have striven to forget, it keeps haunting me. The last thing i need to remember is how I have been called an effeminate. The last thing i need to recall is my birth father's coldness towards me in bid to "prevent" me from becoming a gay. Its not like i want to be one. I don't want to be one. When will people know that? When will they wake up to realise that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just don't understand why I am feeling more than others. I am in a state of dryness presently. I am looking forward to meeting my dad tomorrow at church. But he just sms-ed me that he would be flying to Jakarta  early in the morning...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As i type the previous words, i had to take 45 minutes off to weep and wail, scream and groan in pain like some  undignified white leprous cur. I failed to believe how sinful I am. All my unwanted sufferings are product of my sin. My having homosexual tendencies is a product of my sin. The reason why i feel so lonely is a product of my sin. This seems so punishing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot believe how selfish I am. Just because I cannot  see someone the day after, I get all upset. I want you to believe that  nothing in my life is as simple as words may display, this included. Yes, I confessed i did not want to see my dad from Dalat. I am hurt and i am being disappointed, and i feel like tearing myself away from him. That was until he sent me an sms yesterday expressing how much he loved me. I thought i could rely on his love. And today doesn't seem to make sense at all. He sms-ed me saying he won't be meeting me. Wow.... now i call that cool! Please don't destroy what you just built in my heart. All the building and demolishing is making it a barren wasteland.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-6eDiQ2EQI/AAAAAAAAAi4/OpW6FbsgS8E/s1600-h/melancholy_col.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-6eDiQ2EQI/AAAAAAAAAi4/OpW6FbsgS8E/s320/melancholy_col.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183254004724273410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to top it all up, i am affirming my own selfishness, when I indirectly question God's identity as the Father. I mean sure, at this point of life, I can relate to the fearful-looking God who dispenses punishments. But i fail to relate to the Father as the One who cares for how I feel tonight, and how torn I am, who would come to my side, and give me comfort in my times of grief. I learned something. Never ask/command God to show his love by doing this and that, ie. giving you a 4-flat academic result. But am I asking for too much if i just need to be fed emotionally? I just need His presence now. I want to be comforted by Him. Its not like I took Him for granted like people who only pursue Him when they need Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There I go again. Being selfish. Always wanting God to do a lil' something for me. Is he "starving" me from being fed emotionally so i don't ned to be fed emotionally in the future? Just when I need father most. ALL WAS RETRENCHED.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night is very dark.&lt;br /&gt;No stars are visible.&lt;br /&gt;No, not a single star.&lt;br /&gt;The moon hid itself in disgrace,&lt;br /&gt;having to witness the lunacy&lt;br /&gt;of a boy trapped in a teenage body&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~Alex&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did i even pray to end up this way? A little flashback. I knew this day would come. Come and come often indeed. The days where i will twist and turn in agony and fury, for having to struggle with such over powering emotions of anger and sadness, bitterness and resentment, towards the one whom I loved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in agony because I am helpless. I have suicidal thoughts running through my mind,  a figure in black, motioning for me to take a knife and slit my wrist...I am begging God to punish me and take my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, i hate myself. Because i am thinking about me. And why God is not meeting my emotional needs. People are not meeting my emotional needs. Can you see? I am selfish and very very wretched. i could never love me. I can hardly believe when someone claims to love me. Not because i doubt, but i think my heart is growing colder, and I just cannot receive all the love you are sending out. Talk about catching water in my palm!  How can anyone love me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so bitter inside, i think i just froze. I don't want to harp on too much about how people aren't responding to my need. I have like a mental check list in my head of the possible wrongs which might forfeit people from reaching out to me. I remember not being selfish to go lamenting and telling others how much i need them and make them feel uncomfortable and used. I am still in waiting mode. Nobody seems to know i am dying inside. i am positive about one thing. that God is eager to touch and restore me. And he might just be using these Christians to do so. But nothing seems to happen. Or is it that they are not living in the Spirit that they cannot sense the need to minister to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oops, that sounds so selfish... its all about me. I am so so soooo sinful. I dun like me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4297538165921766939?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4297538165921766939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4297538165921766939&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4297538165921766939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4297538165921766939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/03/anatomy-of-melancholy.html' title='The Anatomy of Melancholy'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-6dUCQ2EPI/AAAAAAAAAiw/jBLeYwiQ-jQ/s72-c/anatomyofmelancholy04.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3257842197376079571</id><published>2008-03-27T12:05:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T15:59:07.449+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Blue Bird</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;The only reason why you don't see me is because...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I am in a merry, joyous gay exam!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;woohoo!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182698489359241394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-yk0SQ2ELI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/OWHJjC3DCVk/s320/n732238568_666177_148.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3257842197376079571?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3257842197376079571/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3257842197376079571&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3257842197376079571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3257842197376079571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/03/blue-bird.html' title='The Blue Bird'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-yk0SQ2ELI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/OWHJjC3DCVk/s72-c/n732238568_666177_148.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6437564451409846631</id><published>2008-03-09T15:59:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-03-28T16:36:52.635+08:00</updated><title type='text'>General Elections 2008</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-ysISQ2ENI/AAAAAAAAAig/k0BGyVFTAVg/s1600-h/ceramah1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182706529538019538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-ysISQ2ENI/AAAAAAAAAig/k0BGyVFTAVg/s320/ceramah1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, maybe I have never expressed this in my blog before but, I am passionate about politics. How can you not be when you know your life and the very lives of your descendants are dependent on it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talking about politics, makes me come alive. I have managed to attend a few ceramahs here and there and i must say, I am really glad I did. The first ceramah i attended was the Hye Keat estate by Lim Guan Eng because I heard Raja Petra Kamaruddin would be there. But he wasn't because the police stopped him since he had no permit to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the benefit of international readers, ceramah is some sort of rally where a candidate contesting for a seat, would give a speech. Guan Eng said that night "Ah si wa pek ai cho BILLIONAIRE, ee toh cha cha jip huan join UMNO liao lo. Wa ko than ta ta jit chiak kari ph'ng." in Malaccan Hokkien dialect. Translated, it would mean "If my father wanted to be a billionaire, he would have joined UMNO at the first place and eat curry for the rest of his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case none of you know, Guan Eng's father is the famed Lim Kit Siang, president of the opposition party, who was jailed a few times for voicing out on the people's rights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the best has yet to come, two days after, the DAP [opposition party] had a grand rally out at an open field of a Chinese school, packed to about 60 thousand participants, people from all walks of life, gathered to listen to what DAP has to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Malaysian Chinese has been intimidated for too long a time. There was a time the government threatened the Penangites that if we vote the opposition, they might have to change the state Chief Minister, from a Chinese to a Malay. Then we saw a strong vote in favour of the government. This year, we showed them that, we are sick to the core with the government's bad antics, that we are willing to pay the price. How bad can the situation be? its already rotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guan Eng quoted Pak Lah, the present prime minister, that if Barisan Nasional [present government] were to be denied a 2/3 majority, a 13th May incident would occur again. 13th may incident, was a historic event, witnessing the slaughter of the Chinese by the Malays, and vice versa. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182707951172194530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-ytbCQ2EOI/AAAAAAAAAio/8XadMMJJ2OE/s320/penang%25201%2520rally%2520.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guan Eng, to correct his statement, said that it is a blatant lie, and it is impossible that the prime minister would allow 13th May to occur again. The first evident consequences, would be the fall of the stock market, dominated by the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UMNO"&gt;UMNO&lt;/a&gt; [Malay component party of the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barisan_Nasional"&gt;Barisan Nasional&lt;/a&gt;] members and in particular &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khairy_Jamaluddin"&gt;Khairy Jamaluddin&lt;/a&gt;, his son in law. If the Prime Minister would even allow, 13th May to occur again, Khairy would beg his father in law, to stop it by any means.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole field was so full, people had to stand by the road rise to hear the opposition rally against the Government. As expected, problems arise in terms of parking, and many parked their cars illegally, by the road. At the sight of police forces, the crowd spread the information from the back all the way to the front, alerting people of the treat. As the police arrived to hand out summons, someone proceeded to do the easy way out of getting a summon - a good bribe! As the Indian bystanders watched the transaction, they made a hullabaloo, that all the police could do nothing but stare with their mouth open, and draw away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182706525243052226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-ysICQ2EMI/AAAAAAAAAiY/xjwAnmVKDsw/s320/campaign_guaneng.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guan Eng's response to the interruption of the police forces, was that police only go to places with immense crowd, trying to find some bribe. He added that he did not hear police attending the Barisan National concert the night before. He asked rhetorically if it means the Barisan Nasional rally was not a single bit applauded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The police did a silly move, by issuing summons. They sabotage the slim chance of Barisan Nasional's victory. With much anger and frustration, the people will vent it out on the ballot boxes. Its your doom, Barisan Nasional!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a Christian, my perspectives on politics are very different. Many people think that politics aren't supposed to be a part of Christian life. I beg to differ. How can we not be interested with the affairs that concern our fellow people? Aren't we supposed to love our neighbours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the craziest thing I did during such exciting times is to remove a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democratic_Action_Party"&gt;DAP&lt;/a&gt; banner and tie them to my car aerial. I collected posters, and hang them, and i even helped them canvassed for votes. The opposition, I felt, needed our support since they have been in every way, at a disadvantage in terms of finance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although i am still illegible to vote, I enjoyed living in such a time where the future is so uncertain. I find it entertaining when i had to stand to listen to the speeches of the opposition candidate, screaming and cheering. It just makes me feel alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that the results are out, Penang is first to lost to the opposition, then Kedah, Selangor and followed by Perak and of course, Kelantan. Life has never got so interesting. We all know what &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samy_Vellu"&gt;Samy Vellu&lt;/a&gt; has contributed and how ineffective &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shahrizat_Abdul_Jalil"&gt;Shahrizat&lt;/a&gt; has been. The others like &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ong_Ka_Ting"&gt;Ong Ka Ting&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdullah_Badawi"&gt;Abdullah Badawi&lt;/a&gt;, our dearest prime minister was reputedly to have been redeemed by the postal votes from the armies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have been toiling for a long time in prayer and nothing is more encouraging than to see God flexing his muscles, and pull down the corrupt. I am so proud to be a Penangite. I think the prophecy came through. They said revolution would sweep over the land, and it all starts here in a humble island called Penang where everything's possible.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6437564451409846631?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6437564451409846631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6437564451409846631&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6437564451409846631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6437564451409846631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/03/general-elections-2008.html' title='General Elections 2008'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R-ysISQ2ENI/AAAAAAAAAig/k0BGyVFTAVg/s72-c/ceramah1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-4030191129937668671</id><published>2008-03-08T10:37:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T11:52:12.772+08:00</updated><title type='text'>on my blindness as well.</title><content type='html'>&lt;pre style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;   &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;On His Blindness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; by John Milton&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Then I consider how my light is spent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     And that one talent which is death to hide&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     To serve therewith my Maker, and present&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     My true account, lest he returning chide,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;    That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;    Either man's work or his own gifts: who best&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;    Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;     Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;    And post o'er land and ocean without rest:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;    They also serve who only stand and wait."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/pre&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R9IE3mYYX9I/AAAAAAAAAiI/yZ3LIXsGopE/s1600-h/blind.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 182px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R9IE3mYYX9I/AAAAAAAAAiI/yZ3LIXsGopE/s320/blind.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175204275044245458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am glad in a way, that i am a student of literature though being one pains me so much. The poem above is by John Milton, a blind poet with very very controversial views on the Christian Theology. And in this poem, he wrote about his being blind, due to some unforeseen mishap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The poet considers how he spent his gift of sight. He recounts the parable of the Talents in the gospel, where a group of servants were given Talents to work on when their master was away. They are to put the Talents to use, and produce more Talents. Every servant managed to multiply the number of their Talents, except one servant who hid his Talent under the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When his master returned, he had to gave his account on how he spent the Talent. The Master was furious that it wasn't put to work, and therefore, condemned him to ultimate destruction. And here I saw Milton's fear of having to give an account before God, about him not being able to work to the maximum efficiency, due to his disability  , his eyes, lodged with him, useless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he was eager to serve his Master with all he could, that he would not bring upon himself, rebukes from God. "Does God demand day labour when I am denied, sight?", John Milton fondly asked. And God instantly replied to seal the complain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I do not need man's work and gifts, to make my day. I am King of the Universe. Who are you , mortal men to say that I will not survive without your gifts? You do not have to go to the ends of the world and strike the moon, and catch the stars in a bowl for me. Each bears his own yoke that i have appointed for them. These people, they serve me best. Even those who are called to stand and wait, they serve me best."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was into the mood of thinking again. Who is God that I a mortal being should think that if i do not tithe, the Church would fall flat and die? That if I do not serve in the various ministries, God wouldn't fall sick and have a flu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And deeper still, when I encounter problems where i feel so troubled and helpless,  who am I to lament and complain, shake my fist at God demanding justice. "I served you all these while. Why does this befall me?" God does not need my service, nor any man's service for that matter. It is just pure joy that it was by grace, I am able to serve God. It should be my honour, not God's. How can I be so blind? It is my privilege, not His, that he has my service&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-4030191129937668671?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/4030191129937668671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=4030191129937668671&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4030191129937668671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/4030191129937668671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/03/on-my-blindness-as-well.html' title='on my blindness as well.'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R9IE3mYYX9I/AAAAAAAAAiI/yZ3LIXsGopE/s72-c/blind.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-1777146690431442607</id><published>2008-03-04T13:09:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T13:59:42.948+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Healing Touch</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk2BN4iYI/AAAAAAAAAh4/OGh-Owcx0Pk/s1600-h/HT.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173761688632592770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk2BN4iYI/AAAAAAAAAh4/OGh-Owcx0Pk/s320/HT.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A visit to the doctor, was generally not something i would look forward to. And to top it all up, with the recent events on my family's fall in financial sense, I have no other options than to get a check-up at the state-run General Hospital. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In Malaysia, there are a few perceptions that are attached to people who visit the General Hospital. You are either poor and impoverished, a Malay and poor, or poor and not rich... you get the idea!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, stepping into that hospital was sort of affirming my new found status. But i decided to change my mind. Other than a long queue, everything was satisfactory. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Due to recent stress and anxiety, and depression, I have developed some ever runny nose, on an eternal marathon. And as if that wasn't good enough, I had a headache which made me feel like having a boa constrictor around my skull. Oops, did I mention that my face swelled like I was a victim of domestic abuse?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk1BN4iWI/AAAAAAAAAho/emTYZTtrQIM/s1600-h/doctor.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173761671452723554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 273px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 171px" height="217" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk1BN4iWI/AAAAAAAAAho/emTYZTtrQIM/s320/doctor.jpg" width="319" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was this something in my head, or was it all in the mind? I am not too sure myself. You should note that I have sinusitis.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thinking about last year where every sniff amounts to a 5minute nosebleed, I decided it is very wise indeed to have a check with the Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a male doctor. Pleasant looking, rather ruffy in speech and disinterested initially. But he realised after a word or two, that he's speaking to some intellectual being, he changed his manner of speech. I really understand. Having to serve in the General Hospital, you serve every patient of different strata of the society. And most of the time, you get the lousy ones who can't string a proper sentence in English. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk1xN4iXI/AAAAAAAAAhw/5jBO8IUMUnw/s1600-h/fiberoptics+scope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173761684337625458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="162" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk1xN4iXI/AAAAAAAAAhw/5jBO8IUMUnw/s320/fiberoptics+scope.jpg" width="218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He asked a few general questions about myself and I noticed that he's perception of me changed drastically when I told him I am on a Cambridge A Level Course, on occasional medication [named a few: Carinox, Clarinase, Zyrtec]. Suddenly he realised he wasn't dealing with any Tom, Dick and Harry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He proceeded to check my face, and my neck for any imflamation of growth. He wanted to schedule me for another appointment to do a fiberopticscope, which I dread, but he decided to give me some very good treat indeed, to finish it on that day itself. However, i do not really fancy having something stuck up to my nose, while i gasp for air. It hurt very much since my nostrils are rather narrow. But anyway, I felt like I was drawn to his firmness and gentle manner.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The most memorable thing about him was the way he examined my face and neck. He stood behind me, and rolled his fingers through my face and down my neck, feeling for any abnormal growth. It felt like a facial massage but it was entirely in a clinical manner. Firm yet gentle. It was so comforting. It was in no way sensual, but for a person who was/is depressed, it was the best thing on&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk2RN4iZI/AAAAAAAAAiA/iKD1ZATn7Vk/s1600-h/shoulder.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5173761692927560082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk2RN4iZI/AAAAAAAAAiA/iKD1ZATn7Vk/s320/shoulder.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;e can ever receive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was not like he's a hunk or what not. He's not sexually paralyzing, nor had he has th model-killer look. A simple guy, with simple methods. Yet i could feel as if he was connecting to me, deep within. I felt so happy after the examination. It just felt so different. That healing touch, when will I encounter one again? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-1777146690431442607?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/1777146690431442607/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=1777146690431442607&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1777146690431442607'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/1777146690431442607'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/03/healing-touch.html' title='Healing Touch'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R8zk2BN4iYI/AAAAAAAAAh4/OGh-Owcx0Pk/s72-c/HT.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-27696451421767547</id><published>2008-02-21T12:10:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T12:50:42.989+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hatred</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70DAk8IwuI/AAAAAAAAAgg/XR4qvIkgEhE/s1600-h/hate-image2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70DAk8IwuI/AAAAAAAAAgg/XR4qvIkgEhE/s320/hate-image2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169291255741989602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I used to say how hatred can actually destroy lives of people who are not aware of its destructive force. It is a sin and it is bad still. And yeah, I still hold on to that principle. But it seemed ironic that i should be a victim of hatred and unforgiveness as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't generally go around hating people. That is base. Base! Base! I mean with the exception that you are that motorist who purportedly rides in front of my wheels, forcing me to apply the brakes, you do not suffer under my wrath; which is barely wrath after all, considering that my hatred for you will diminish as soon as i see another fluttering bird flying across the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70C208IwtI/AAAAAAAAAgY/eqYzAPTRABs/s1600-h/sparrows.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70C208IwtI/AAAAAAAAAgY/eqYzAPTRABs/s320/sparrows.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169291088238265042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you can generally imply that I don't really hate people. Wow, i never knew i knew so little about myself. Everyday, i am carrying a baggage called 'hatred'. Now the people who are victims to my intense wrath are people whom I loved and cared for. People whom, I have invested my time, and heart in. They break my heart and off my heart becomes petrified. Oh, cold and grey!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyday, I have to sit in front of my God and said "I release *&amp;amp;^%$# from my anger, wrath, hatred and unforgiveness". And again I find Alex so paradoxical as he releases them only to catch them back with his iron fist, at the sight of another fluttering bird flying across the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the problem with Alex is. He's a nice guy. If he hates someone, he doesn't just tell them. He evades them and the whole whole still spins, and no one would know about the wounds he sustains. Smart huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70CkE8IwsI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/WuDafJ90-O8/s1600-h/persuasion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70CkE8IwsI/AAAAAAAAAgQ/WuDafJ90-O8/s320/persuasion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169290766115717826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I know how to deal with hatred. I will need to shift my focus and occupy myself! Besides I have lost of work to be done. Namely, chapter summaries for Jane Austen's Persuasion and modern translation of King Lear. And maybe, instead of hating the people i hate, I can start despising Edmund the Bastard in King Lear. But i pray this does not last till the next visible fluttering bird flying across the sky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can never be so proud of myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-27696451421767547?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/27696451421767547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=27696451421767547&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/27696451421767547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/27696451421767547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/hatred.html' title='Hatred'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R70DAk8IwuI/AAAAAAAAAgg/XR4qvIkgEhE/s72-c/hate-image2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-449023543922822125</id><published>2008-02-20T13:02:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T12:09:24.996+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Promises</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7z5VU8IwrI/AAAAAAAAAgI/bkWFxwMAotQ/s1600-h/Promises+book+cover.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7z5VU8IwrI/AAAAAAAAAgI/bkWFxwMAotQ/s320/Promises+book+cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169280617107997362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you love promises? You think they sound nice? What do promises mean to you? I personally think promises are sweet and they somehow looked to me like some hot looking moist mud chocolate cake with a sprinkling of faith and a generous overcoat of security. Now that's comforting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I always look forward to promises made by people whom I really care and love. It makes me smile while bashing up the problems of my day. I can see myself kicking the butts of depressing thoughts and degrading remarks, and finish them off with a 'i-box-you-fly' kind of a punch and smiling from cheek to cheek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to wonder what will ensue if promises are broken. Today I got a taste of it. It was supposed to be another meet up with my dad at Coffeebean. I waited with my Persuasion by Jane Austen tightly clutched within my dry palm. I could actually sense that he somehow forgotten about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But i was rather calm about it. I gave him a call asking about his whereabouts. And like how i can trust my expectations, he was at Dalat, over engrossed in his work. Oh well, big work load and distractions... I mean to say that I understand. I wished I didn't. But i think I mentioned this for a kazillionth time that I am best at making excuses for others. And it is really not healthy that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did offer to come immediately but I firmly declined. I have the tendedncy to love keeping people in probable guilt. Probable only because only some people feel guilty for their negligence. Even this I suspect because in the course of my 19 years on earth, I happen to be the only guilt-prone person with extreme tendencies to be overwhelmed with unnecessary guilt over petty stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes i wished my assumptions and predictions aren't accurate like how they seem to work today. It simply sucks out all the joy and excitement in anticipating a pending event. I attribute this to the pessimistic me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate it when someone breaks their promise. You know i wouldn't care about people who are insignificant to me, breaking their promise. But no; As much as I would like to try hiding it, I am hurt by his breaking his promise. I am less expressive these days. I am already numb to people who break promises.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7z4t08IwqI/AAAAAAAAAgA/8aJejuTs0OA/s1600-h/promise.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7z4t08IwqI/AAAAAAAAAgA/8aJejuTs0OA/s320/promise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169279938503164578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it didn't feel weird. I am just hurt inside, but i decided that I must once again put on a mask and wear a happy face. Besides, its easier to do that than to prepare some 5 minute speech to everyone who's asking about your day. "Fine" is a better ending to "How is your day?" than "Not good" which would lead to many more persuasions to expose your failling life&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been asking myself. Do I really feel love these days? I think not. I don't feel loved, nor the need to love. I am dry, and the starvation period has left me, a hollow being. Void of emotions. Lack of love will lead to complete numb to love. Congratulations Tim! In your detaching yourself from me, you detached everything in the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought God promised me good results for my A Levels. No, it didn't ocur. I got bad grades. But that made me think again. Did God actually promised me some good grades. I mean sure I worked hard but was I really sure God will give me some good grades? Maybe I heard things wrongly. But my deepest fear is that I have been self-conceited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seasons of broken promises, what do you hold for me? I have become a person skeptical of promises. When will I start trusting people again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-449023543922822125?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/449023543922822125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=449023543922822125&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/449023543922822125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/449023543922822125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/promises.html' title='Promises'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7z5VU8IwrI/AAAAAAAAAgI/bkWFxwMAotQ/s72-c/Promises+book+cover.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8899343230478087115</id><published>2008-02-19T22:47:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T02:24:45.522+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cruelty</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7sdEk8IwoI/AAAAAAAAAfw/keu5qtQMj20/s1600-h/goodbye-cruel-world.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7sdEk8IwoI/AAAAAAAAAfw/keu5qtQMj20/s320/goodbye-cruel-world.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168756961810367106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is pure cruelty. Sometimes, i feel ashamed to be a Christian, judging on the conduct of most of my Christian friends. Lately, i felt as if i have fallen deep into a series of mishaps, still groaning and dragging my feet today. I have been reading that it is not God's intent to keep me settling at the dark valleys of my life, just move on pass the terrain into higher lands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know myself that i don't wanna pitch my tents and camp overnight in the dark valleys of my mind. Its horrible. I wish people can try to see that i am struggling myself to get out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some concluded that I backslided, lost my zeal for the Kingdom. To say that i have lost my zeal for the Kingdom, is partially true. My shock and my grief has an effect of epic proportions. I begin to even doubt who i really am. A person of no achievements and a horrible failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But to say that i have backslided and abandoned my faith is a lie and it hurts me. It hurts me because no one know how much i struggled to keep my faith. I am certain about my faith statement and that Jesus is just the only way to go. Its either i stay on Jesus team or join the rebels.  But what i am struggling right now is to discover God's true identity.  What it truly means to call him 'Lord' and 'Father'[which i am severely struggling to do so].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate it when people accuse me for not being open. I was questioned about my absence in previous prayer meets. I didn't quite like his tone. It was inquisitional. My answer was simple and direct that i am going through some spiritual desert. He was giving some clever statements about how to be holy-holy and stuff. And he was soon interjected by another person saying that i should be more open about my struggles so people can help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What i am sick about these people is that all they ever demand is to get people to open up their every dirty secret to be examined closely. Yes, the Bible said it is imperative that we bring out  into the light every wicked deeds that  evil may not thrive in the dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hey look here, I don't trust you guys. I can never entrust my heart to any of you guys. All you ever want is to open and dissect me for public view and examination.  When will you learn that this is a two way process and that i need to earn your trust by seeing you trusting me as well? True enough, you are a whole bunch of insecure people who probably take comfort in seeing the imperfection in others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will never open myself up to your observation.  There is no love in your words. Never a syllable to  comfort me.  How could i ever confide in you when all i see in your face is judgment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christians are probably the cruelest people on earth. They look so good on the outside, but they are a bunch of rotten people inside whose only concern is to look good and spiritual every Sunday morning. Whitewashed tombs! All glossy on the outside, but storing rotten bodies on the inside!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7seOE8IwpI/AAAAAAAAAf4/8DXU1HjNBM0/s1600-h/pain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7seOE8IwpI/AAAAAAAAAf4/8DXU1HjNBM0/s320/pain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168758224530752146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I rarely found people who truly care for me and my soul. I saw Brian who repeatedly asked me if I am fine.  Thank you Brian for your concern. Your adamant questions convinces me of the Christ in you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am somehow affected by my dad from Dalat. He is very much convinced of the 'need' to starve me from his hugs. Not that i need them so much [he is difficult to hug- too tall]. Everytime i hug him, i could feel as if he is not giving it all. And lately, just because i have SSA, he thinks its best to starve me of it. When will he learn that its his presence and all those back rubs, holding hands and hair ruffling that matters? The bigger question is when will I learn to tell him I need these things?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am so sick of people who give me loads of words. Like I am in rush of digesting the big load of 'advice' from 'experts'. Hey, give me a break will you? Can't you even lend me a shoulder? I just need someone to listen out. Not just another lecturer high on alphabet soup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7scO08IwmI/AAAAAAAAAfk/cjIrAojtoX0/s1600-h/yoursign.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7scO08IwmI/AAAAAAAAAfk/cjIrAojtoX0/s320/yoursign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168756038392398434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My accountability partner never fails to let me down. Again and again. He should be my agony partner instead. He was probably high on alphabet soup as well. Trying to dish out as much advice as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, dun get me wrong. I do appreciate  your advices. But i need more than that. I want evidence that you care for me more than some lip service. Is that too hard to ask for?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cruelty has nothing than this that he denies his very friend the love he needs in times of trouble.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8899343230478087115?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8899343230478087115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8899343230478087115&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8899343230478087115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8899343230478087115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/cruelty.html' title='Cruelty'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/R7sdEk8IwoI/AAAAAAAAAfw/keu5qtQMj20/s72-c/goodbye-cruel-world.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-8212523228296044039</id><published>2008-02-18T13:28:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T13:53:06.196+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Being In The Family</title><content type='html'>Given a picture of a father and a growing up child, where the child refuses to love his father and to call him 'dad' simply because he refused his child, say, a computer course. I mean sure, sure. These are occasional occurances and they are rampant in Asia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at church this morning when the sermon was preached about being in the family of God. What exactly qualifies you to be in His family?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are not a de facto family member if you are his biological mother/brother/father.  &lt;a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=mark%203:31-35&amp;amp;version=31"&gt;Read here&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are not his family member if you are a mere know-all. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;You are a family member of Christ only when you do God's will.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God's will is my brother and sister and mother."   Mark 3:34-35&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I have this problem lately. I cannot call God my Father, without feeling weird. I guess its an aftermath effect of the big crash i had with regards to my results. feeling as if God disappointed me, I satrted to even doubt God's "father-ness". And till today, i have not voluntarily called him Father. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It makes me think hard about what He personally spoke to me at the pew. That I am still His child no matter how hard i refuse to admit it. Because I was doing His will by faithfully worshipping Him despite my circumstances. Makes me wanna think. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-8212523228296044039?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/8212523228296044039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=8212523228296044039&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8212523228296044039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/8212523228296044039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/being-in-family.html' title='Being In The Family'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-3048525611050475370</id><published>2008-02-14T01:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-14T01:50:43.273+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Theological Worldview</title><content type='html'>&lt;table class="tblBorderAll" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;img src="http://quizfarm.com//images/1118094766wesley-john.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://quizfarm.com/test.php?q_id=7095N" target="_blank"&gt;What's your theological worldview?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;created with &lt;a href="http://quizfarm.com/" target="_blank"&gt;QuizFarm.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;You scored as &lt;b&gt;Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan&lt;/b&gt;&lt;p&gt;You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavly by John Wesley and the Methodists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table width="50%"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="96"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;96%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Emergent/Postmodern&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="75"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;75%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Fundamentalist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="71"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;71%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Reformed Evangelical&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="71"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;71%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Neo orthodox&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="54"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;54%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Classical Liberal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="54"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;54%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Charismatic/Pentecostal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="43"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;43%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Modern Liberal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="32"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;32%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;Roman Catholic&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        &lt;table bgcolor="#dddddd" border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="18"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;18%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="visibility: hidden; width: 0px; height: 0px;" src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/CIMP/Jmx*PTEyMDI5MjQ2NTkxMzMmcHQ9MTIwMjkyNDcyODQxNCZwPTY5MDgxJmQ9Jm49.jpg" border="0" height="0" width="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-3048525611050475370?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/3048525611050475370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=3048525611050475370&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3048525611050475370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/3048525611050475370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/theological-worldview.html' title='Theological Worldview'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-810777374969015975.post-6910527586320034409</id><published>2008-02-13T13:15:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T13:45:06.257+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let Down</title><content type='html'>In letting down my hair to find out who I truly am, I let down the Big Guy up there. Why? I am an insecure young boy, trying to prove himself to the world, trying to grab some achievements and medals under his belt. Again and again I failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will I remain a failure?&lt;br /&gt;God said I am not?&lt;br /&gt;Does my present circumstances reflect the non-failure Alex?&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't. But God said He transcends any circumstances.&lt;br /&gt;Who am I to believe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discovering who i really am, shocks me to my death. I am a pessimist who dwell on my past failures. Will God change that part of me? I don't know but I must trust He will. The thing with trusting is, I hate to wait but i need to wait to see the results.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There I am last night, listing down my needs to God expecting Him to fulfill them. After all He is who He claims to be: my Father with a capital 'F'. I need affection, I need to feel secure [because i am not].&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And most of all, I need to get back right with Him. I feel painc attacks surging throughout my body for no apparent reasons I am realising that I am drowning and heading straight for spiritual death. I feel empty inside. I cannot find joy peace and love. I've been holding Him back for too long and now to seek Him back, its taking all the humility I will need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To go to Him, with my pride bashed up saying, "I am still in need of God". And I have let Him down. I became so bitter in my failures that I have lost sight of Him, rendered Him a liar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And not realising it, I have people around me who observe how I react to my failures and how I hang on to my God in spite of my disappointments and pain. I failed to be a witness to others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I for real? Will people notice the Christ in me when I deal with with my hurts and pains and my failures?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And paraplegic Joni Eareckson Tada attests, "Nothing will convince and convict those around us like the peaceful and positive way you and I respond to our hurts and distress. The unbelieving world—your neighbors, the guy at the gas station, the postman, the lady at the cleaners, your boss at work—is observing the way we undergo our trials."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/810777374969015975-6910527586320034409?l=alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/feeds/6910527586320034409/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=810777374969015975&amp;postID=6910527586320034409&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6910527586320034409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/810777374969015975/posts/default/6910527586320034409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alexsteinertmiles.blogspot.com/2008/02/let-down.html' title='Let Down'/><author><name>Alex Steinert Miles</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02836521996640983652</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8L3sr6wSgs/SWDyeKl9_DI/AAAAAAAABHE/A77m_p6SQME/S220/zoz.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
