Monday, February 06, 2006
Back to work again...sigh....Wish everyday is a weekend..;P Nah..that's not gonna happen..
But it is seriously hard to get back on track after the CNY hols, don't you think so? Personally, I think that it is takes quite an amount of effort to drag that lazy bum off that sofa and go to school. Erlack.
Okay..since I am in an analysis mood, let's do philosophy! I know..I'm a junior...pls bear with my childish thoughts. x) this part is optional then you can skip to the summary part.
-skippable part x)-
Firstly, let's start with self-deception. If done unconciously, how do you know you are decieving yourself? If you don't know that you are decieving yourself..maybe a very very very very good friend may know and tell you..but you'll say," No, i am not decieving myself, it is the truth." Hence, you would never change. Unless you suddenly wake up one day and realize that you are decieving youself....Maybe sometimes decieving is done deliberately, but what if you start to believe it? You would not know that you are decieving yourself in the end..would you? So I guess you wouldn't know about decieving yourself in the end.
Speaking of decieving, then how would you know who is your real self? Okok wait..i am confusing myself now...I'll just stop here then. :)
-ends skippable part. Now COMPULSORY part-
Okk..summary..
......
English--questions--DONE!!!
Math.....nothing...
Basically I finished the stuff that i was supposed to do x) This blog is gonna be an enjoyment blog.. I have no more energy....
This is one of my favourite poems..but to get the effect you have to dramatic read this piece. If I can find the author I would give him my compliments....
The Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstance
In harsh and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs,
The first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire
She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way
Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch.
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy, shiftless poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain.
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands
Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.
Cya
posted at 8:36 PM... bye...
----------------
