放假真的很闷

不知不觉已经放假了差不多一个月，每天不是吃就是睡，看电影，上网和读书……
最近很常出夜街，不到凌晨4点多都不回家……睡觉在家闷到要死……=.=
每天多要听父母唱歌真的很不爽……父母唱完到姐姐唱……真是#￥%……
我时常在想，为什么自己那么不爱家，为什么呢?
是家庭给予我的压力太大了吗？不明白啦……

我不后悔因为我曾经努力过～

一直飘浮不定的心情，已慢慢的稳定了……终于明白感情是需要双反面的付出，才会有结果的；就算自己怎样努力都好，还是挽留不了的……刚开始时真的无法接受，伤心了几天；闷闷不乐了几天……还好有一班朋友的陪伴，终于走出了这死气层层的心情。

还记得这个故事……因为这故事，我才明白了；才没有一直的伤心……

年輕人喜歡上了在便利商店 打工的女孩,
他每天都會到女孩工作的店裡面買一包香菸,漸漸的兩人開

始互相熟悉, 當女孩工作感到無聊乏味的時候,或者是心情不好的時候,
年輕人就會出現, 他會陪女孩說說話, 或是逗女孩開心.
女孩也知道年輕人似乎喜歡上自己了,可是自己已經有很要好的男友,
面對年輕人如此的關懷,自己也不知道如何婉拒他.
有一天商店外頭運來一台娃娃機,女孩很喜歡裡面的娃娃,
年輕人知道以後,就去夾了一隻娃娃送給女孩,
當天他終於對她表白,希望女孩能接受他,
不知如何是好的女孩,只能殘忍的告訴年輕人,她和他是不可能的,
因為她已經有深愛的男友了,
年輕人聽了之後默然的點點頭,
只是自己對女孩的喜歡已經超出自己所預期的,
他不死心的問女孩,自己真的沒有機會了嗎?
善良的女孩不忍心看到原本開朗風趣的年輕人變得如此消沉寡歡,
於是她手指著娃娃機裡面的絨毛娃娃說,
除非你夾滿100個娃娃,而且一天只能夾一個.

原來女孩希望用時間來沖淡年輕人對自己的感情,
她心想,一天夾1個娃娃,最快也要三個多月之後才有100個,
而且年輕人應該不會真的有耐心夾滿100個娃娃吧!
這三個月的時間,她會盡量與男孩保持距離,
她決心讓兩人恢復到店員和顧客的關係.
年輕人還是每天到商店來,可是女孩開始變得冷淡,
他總是試著聊一些女孩有興趣的話題,不過女孩依然愛理不理.
因為她知道唯有這樣做,才不會讓年輕人越陷越深.
年輕人或許是感覺到女孩的用意,
於是他每天夾娃娃,
有時運氣好夾一兩次就中了,
有時運氣差,零用錢花光了也夾不到,只好跟朋友借錢繼續夾,一直到夾 中為止.
無論花多少錢花多少時間,他每天一定會夾一個娃娃,
只是他無法與女孩分享夾到娃娃的喜悅,
因為他知道女孩有意要避開他,
為了怕引響到女孩的情緒,他只能在櫥窗外頭微笑的對女孩點點頭.

好幾次,看到年輕人因為夾到娃娃興高采烈的樣子,
女孩都想要衝出去對他說,
我是騙你的,你不要再夾了,就算你真的夾到100個娃娃,我跟你也是不 可能的!
但是一想到年輕人希望破滅的樣子,女孩就於心不忍,
她只能不斷猶豫.

就這樣1天,2天,3天..,年輕人的娃娃數量不斷的累積,
而女孩刻意與年輕人保持距離的結果,則是讓自己在工作的時後更顯孤 單.
不知道是哪一天,女孩子因為在外地工作的男友無法回來陪她過18歲的 生日,
與男友吵了一架,
而那天年輕人仍一如往常的來到便利商店,
不同的是那天年輕人竟走進了店裡,
他對女孩說, 可不可以破例讓他在今天夾兩個娃娃回去,
可是因為和男友吵架而心情不佳的女孩,很生氣的當場拒絕了他.
就這樣,年輕人走到娃娃機旁,默默的夾了一個娃娃回去,
在年輕人離開的時後,他對櫥窗裡的女孩看了一眼.
隔天以後,年輕人再也沒來夾娃娃了.
剛開始女孩雖然覺得奇怪,但是仍然慶幸自己終於放下了心中的大石頭 .
可是漸漸的,她突然覺得不習慣,
因為那個每天都會為了她來夾娃娃的熟悉背影,
好像空氣一樣就消失不見了,
這時女孩才發現到,
原來她心中的失落感遠遠超過年輕人所帶給她的負擔.
只是一切都...
女孩開始想念以前年輕人來店裡陪她聊天的點點滴滴.
哪怕他只是站在櫥窗外頭沉默不語的夾娃娃,
似乎都會帶給她莫名的安全感.
所以女孩每天上班時,總是不斷的抬頭張望,
那個熟悉的身影來了嗎?
可惜的是,年輕人始終沒出現,只剩下那台沒人使用的娃娃機.

有一天,女孩下班後,在店門口遇到了以前常和年輕人一起來的朋友,
她焦急的問他年輕人的下落,可是年輕人的朋友則是一臉黯然,
他帶女孩來到年輕人的家,
當他開啟年輕人的房間的門時,映入女孩眼簾的是
一群娃娃機裡面的絨毛娃娃,
以及躺在床上動也不動的年輕人.

原來年輕人的脊椎有病,必須要開刀才能保住生命,
可是開刀有一半的機率會失敗而導致全身癱瘓,
年輕人在開刀的前一天晚上,也就是女孩和男友大吵一架的那天,
希望女孩給他機會夾2個娃娃,因為他已經累積有98個了,
然而卻遭到女孩的回絕,
隔天之後年輕人手術不幸失敗變成植物人,

年輕人的母親拿了一封信給女孩,那是年輕人在手術之前寫好的:
其實我早就知道,就算夾到了100個娃娃,
妳也不可能會喜歡我,
我之所以這麼做並不是故意要造成妳的困擾,
而是希望在我有限的時間裡,
證明我曾經很用心的去愛一個人,
這樣就足夠了,
如果妳看到了這封信,
那表示我再也無法為你夾娃娃了,
對不起,
或許我的努力還不夠吧,
沒能夾到100個娃娃親手送給你..
女孩看著床邊的99個絨毛娃娃,那是99顆無法承受的真心,
眼眶裡的淚水早已決堤而出...
隔天女孩來到年輕人的家,
她將第100個絨毛娃娃放到年輕人的手中,
這時已經變成植物人的他,
眼睛流下了淚水..

有些东西是不能勉强的，该你的自然会使你的；不是你的强留都没有用。
就算得到他的人也得不到他的心，那又何苦呢；到最后伤心的还是自己……
很多时候，人要在失去了后才会珍惜；在哭过后才会明白，原来自己也不是那么的深爱对方……

缘分是天注定的，该来救回来；不来你也没它办法……
但是回忆确实可以自己去争取的，就算失败了；至少还有过一段美好的回忆……
对于感情，只要付出过；就算不能在一起，也不会后悔……
因为自己至少有去努力地让对方爱上自己；至少证明自己曾经深爱过对方……

令人難忘的PLKN

真的好久沒有上網寫日記了！PLKN 的日子真懷念。想當初我還抱怨著活動有都磨得無聊。
最令我舍不得的還是那幫陪我一起度過那無聊和歡樂時刻的朋友們，我真的很想念你們。

The Only and Last Girl That I Love...

This thing was happen on this year 2008.. Tat day... I had found out tat the girl tat i love had fall in love with my fren... I think tat all of u had know who tat lucky girls... Till today i still can't forget her even though i keep telling myself tat i need and should forget her...
But... every time i see her or read the sms tat she send to me... All the memory between me and her keep rushing back into my mind....

I still rmb wat we two hav say when i greed her "xin fu" and happy forever wit her choose boy friend... Tat day i really so sad and unhappy when i knew tat she had fall in love wit my best fren... The reason tat make me like tis was... Why can't she tell to me by herself??? Why was her fren telling tis thing to me but not her...

At tat moment... i really so sad till wanna to cry out liao... i sending her my greed and bless so tat she will happy forever... But when i saw her reply msg.. i really donno how to say out my feeling... she asking me wheather i was unhappy or not when knew tat she had fall in love...
wat can i say... telling her tat i'm so so so unhappy and wanna her stay wit me... So i just tell her tat i'm not unhappy... and i just wanna to greed her and i trust tat her choice is the best for her...
I ask her to promiss me tat she will happy forever... But It really make my blood boiling till maximum.... She ask back me why i say like tis... Isn't the girl tat i love was Lo Yuan ????
Walau... Wat was her thinking about... I mer scolding her back... I tell her... If I'm not love her why i doing those thing to her and care her and scare her get hurt and protect her...
Why i nd do those thing to her if i'm not loving her...

However... tis only continue for few min only... She msg had softing back my feeling and my heart... Wat i can say tat is... I'm can't angry about her... I really care her and scare her get hurt... Wat i can do... She already be my best fren gf... Should i continue rushing her or give out.... At tat moment... I really cry out liao... I had cry out all my feelimg and My tear keep rowing down onto my handphone till i can't read the text tat i had write.....

Wat can i do.... Wat should i do...

Till today... I just keep being very very happy in front of her even i saw her dating at outside...
Now the last thing tat i can do for her is protect her without knowing by her... And being a happy person in front of her...

Sometimes... I thinking my own at the mid nite... Should i start rushing a new girls... So tat i can more eassier to fogot her... The answer tat i find out really suprise me... I found out tat i can't got feel with other girls... She still can controlling my heart and brain and feeling... I think tat she might the only and last girls tat can make me got feeling and loving...

Em... even i say like tat... But all thing nd to see got "yuan fen" or not lah... Make hav another girl can make me got energy to fall in love again... hahah.... Hope will be like tat la...

Any way... Thank for reading my blogger lol... If got spelling misstake.... Sry o... I'm not so good in english gammer... Hope all of you can foung ur true love and hope me also can found....

Sad Story

This is the sad story of love. A story which repeats as long as the crystal ball of time continues to exist, as long as this ball has not crashed into a star, a star from another time. "Time" will perhaps explode from within because of these sad stories which repeat and fill it to capacity. When time fills with love, overflows with feeling, and chokes with tears and shouted loneliness, its crystal walls will break. But every love story will make a home in the particles of this broken sphere and will, itself, make a new "time." And perhaps a day will come when eternity and everything that has been created and everything that has not been created will be nothing but crystal particles which have in their heart a seed of love, a seed of the sad story of love. Then, time will be a woman and a man sleeping in a bubble of time.... stories with endings not quite the same.
Many know the woman now, for this very story, and to name her doesn't change anything. She was a woman who wrote herself into her stories. And there is the man whose existence or absence is the same since no one knows him. How they got to know each other is not very important either. When a story wants to take shape, it will find its way: looking for a job, reading a tale, publishing a book, it makes no difference.
The woman was simple. There was no distance between her mind, her tongue, and her heart. Her speech was the same as her thoughts and her feelings. In the business of love, she did not believe in time really. She was in love all the time, unlike those who fall in love in a moment and then forget all about it....
That is why when she first saw the man she said, "you are very handsome, let's be friends... I am very lonely."
The man was sitting behind the desk with an untidy face and hair, and a thick stubble about his face. He stared at the woman, smiling lightly. Her manner of behavior was such that he formed no impression about her except that the woman was not more than a child from whom a novelist could be made.
The man had read the woman's short stories and pretended to be interested in them, began to speak about the things that he was supposed to mention without uttering a word about love. The woman concluded that if she wrote good stories, the man would be hers.
The days passed and the man maintained the silent smile on his lips and left everything conditional and hanging in the air.
The woman was as she had always been. She would pace the room, search the books and the shelves, organize the papers on the desk, spread them out, and reorganize them again.... The woman was impatient in every step she took and in every word she uttered and one day after she had messed up things all over the place, she sat in front of the man and said, "Give me your hand, I want to tell your fortune."
The man said, "Wait until you become a writer."
The woman said, But I want to hold your hand, I want you to stroke my hair."
The man smiled and asked, "why?'
The woman said, "I want to caress my hair with your hand."
The man laughed and said, "you're crazy," and did not give his hand.
I am writing this story very quickly because I am afraid someone may come in and sit by that window and look at me and ask; How far has the work come? I am writing this story far from peoples' eyes, because I don't like anyone to read it while it is not yet finished. This is why I avoid naming places, cities, and buildings because it not only takes a lot of time, time that I really don't have, but also because it doesn't matter at all. It is enough to know that everything is happening in the crystal ball of the time.
Time for a woman like her who was after someone to love her, meant only time. She did not see any difference between a moment or a year. Whichever corner she was in, she would milk time to reach the moment when she could see him as a man and herself as a woman, and nothing else.
That is how she started her work, as she used her being to give the words life. As if the words were coming from her body and soul. She wrote story after story, day after day, and all of them romantic. The man was there. He would read the stories, shake his head, and be satisfied with his work.
Sometimes, when the woman finished a story, she would read it to the man and then say, "I am tired, lets go for a walk."
The man would smile and shake his head and the woman knew that it was not yet the time for him to appear with her in public. She would accept the distance between them and would doubt her work. She would then go back to reading and writing.
Time passed and the woman's books were published one after another. The man had begun to spent all his time reading her works. He began to think more and more about her, or more precisely about the heroine of her stories. The man would go to the woman's office and she would jump from one subject to another. She had not been coherent in her speech for some time and her situation was becoming more serious every day to the extent that the man couldn't discern which was speaking, the woman or the protagonist of her stories. The strophe-poem of her conversations had become, "Do you love me?"
The man laughed every time she said this and commented with only, "How far has your work progressed?"
And she would suddenly come to her senses, get herself together, and show her hand which had the pen and pencil marks all over it. Her hand had also toughened and the man said, "It is work."
The woman would go back to work.
How long did it take, how much time passed, before these changes settled into her body and soul? The woman who was so conscious about the door and had wanted the man to come in and read her stories, began to be scared of the thought that the door would open and someone would come in and bend over the pages blackened with words.
Time was never important in the woman's life. If the seed was cultivated, the seed of love, nothing could have harmed it. The man saw gradually that the woman did not show enthusiasm and if he called her, she turned her head to him very slowly. It seemed her look no longer had that romantic shine, that childish excitement. However, the eyes of the woman hero of her stories were shining, she gazed romantically, and her acts and behavior became enthusiastically child-like.
The man read the stories everyday, before and after publishing them, and became familiar with the woman more and more, the woman who felt her skin and blood in her stories.
The man played music for her so that she would write more and give the same romantic air to her stories. Hoping that the movement of her neck and head wouldn't remain so slow, he also prepared fruit juice for her and cared more about her diet. But the woman did not pay attention to these acts of kindness. She only wrote. One day when the man said "you seem tired, let's go for a walk," the woman answered with a weak voice and a dull gaze, "I cannot, I am busy."
And she didn't go. She didn't pay attention to critics of her work either. Journals were racing to talk about her, but she did not even know the number of her books' printings. She didn't react to the acclamations of the man who stood in front of her with newspapers in his hands. Her movements only became slower everyday.
One day when the man woke up, he laughed. He had never laughed like that before, especially alone with himself. He had a strange feeling as he remembered the woman's humor and wit, her childish moves and her strophe-poem "Do you love me?"
The man was singing to himself and felt drawn toward the woman. He eventually went to a flower shop, bought a bouquet and set out. The woman was writing as usual. It seemed as though she was writing the last sentence of a short story for only her hand was moving and her body was like a stone statue. She was far from everything, including time. It seemed as though she was only a hand writing hurriedly. He put the flower in a vase before her, but the woman did not look up. She was staring at what she was writing. She didn't even blink. It seemed as though she had reached the end of the last sentence. The man saw her place a period and her hand came to rest on the page. The man slowly took the papers out from under her hand. He read the title of the story: "The Sad Story of Love." He laughed. He touched the woman's shoulder, and looked at her face and froze. The woman was not a woman any more. She had turned into a statue of words, and when the man touched her on the shoulder thousands of words suddenly spread on the ground and among all those thousands of words the man saw these; "You are very handsome... let's be friends....I am very lonely." From the collection: Sang'ha-yi Shaytan. (Tehran: Markaz, 1990), 29-34.

This story I haven抰 told anyone?.Now I would like to tell everyone who knows me?This is about the first girl that makes me fall in love?This happen when I was form 1厖.This first day of school at 2004, I know her?She was beauty and cute and I was very lucky that she sit near me?.Start from that day, I was very happy and excited because she was sit with form that day until the end of year. She was the first person that I remember the birthday and present?. Everyday I heard she sweet voice and watch she smile? We study together, doing homework, and discuss everything?However this was not longer until that day, I made she bottle fall down and all the water inside spread onto ground during the rest time厖 start from that day?she not smile to me and talk to me? I was very sad until I change the seat with Clarinna Lau... This was the last thing I can do so that she will happy and not angry to me?.It was so lucky that she forget about that thing and talk to me again during form two? But I loose my chance to near her?because one of my good friends was fall in love with her?I had to control myself so that I will not hurt my good friend?.At the end of the year 2005? One bad thing happens on she? She was being caught by the discipline teacher cause doing some thing that cannot do at the school?.After that day, I saw her with a pair of red eye and wanted to cry?When she saw me?. I was quiet can抰 hold myself to rush top her to gave her a hug her and telling she everything was ok?But I didn抰 do that?I just walk to there and she smile with me?.she smile with me?how can I imaging what she suffering to hold herself from cry in front of me? Until today, I see her was been a happy girl again and I was so happy that she forgets about the bad thing happen to her and starting a new life and also be my best friend girlfriend厖?Till the end?I would not like to tell the name of the girl? The person who knows me will know who the girl inside this text?.is. Thank you for reading this text厖?