<?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-1722170912508697081</id><updated>2012-02-16T20:04:49.528+08:00</updated><category term='from the author'/><category term='Chapter 1: The Prologue'/><title type='text'>The Story</title><subtitle type='html'>...The world is never what we expect it to be...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1722170912508697081/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Eba "Bambam" Desabelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09280178117212306999</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4qbMgRmxNfk/TZiqdJkAFkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/So1WS90WVS8/s220/barfield%2Bshirt.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722170912508697081.post-5840454744666238996</id><published>2008-06-24T20:42:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-27T10:42:11.762+08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chapter 1: The Prologue'/><title type='text'>Violet Hair</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Violet Hair.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I have never seen one in a human being’s head before. Not in person, that is. Is he Japanese? Doesn’t look like one. Somebody FROM &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Japan&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; perhaps? Possible. But then again I wouldn’t know if I didn’t ask, would I? Should I just come up to him and say “Yo, you from &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Japan&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;?” What if he’s really Japanese, should I ask him “Nihonjin desu ka?” instead? Is that how you say it?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;OK, he’s stopping. He sees me. What to do. What to do. “Yo, you from &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;Japan&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;?” or “Nihonjin desu ka?” Which one? Which one? It’s probably safer if I stick with English and if he doesn’t understand anything then I guess I’ll just have to switch – smoothly switch – to Japanese. Yeah, yeah...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Nihonjin desu ka eh… Is that how you REALLY say it? Was it really ‘nihon’? Or maybe it was ‘niPPon’? &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Which one. Which one.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;“Yo. You. From where?” &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Ugh. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;“Nakkashne thomo. Hah lenkash holetah.” &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Perfect. Well, at least I know he’s NOT from &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Japan&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;. Haven’t heard of that language either, so…he’s not from anywhere I know. Ijit.Ijit. I wonder where is he from then? &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Wait. *looks around*&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Where AM I?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Shit. I smell barbeque-ish shit all over the room. I looked at the half opened door of the bathroom and automatically groaned. I’m late again.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Papa poops at exactly 6:50 in the morning. I do not know why or how but he never misses to do so. Ever. I remember him telling me that I should always make it a habit to poop at a particular time of the day. And if I can, make it at an exact time. Like his 6:50 habit. Oh yes, it IS possible, he says matter-of-factly. Our body can make precise adjustments. It’s all in ‘the mind’ (‘the mind’ is said with a low mysterious tone). &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;I think it’s troublesome big time. Say I train myself to defecate at a particular time and succeed in doing so. What happens if something comes up at that exact time? Lumpy accidents then? And say I suddenly move to another country? Which time will my pooping time follow? Here or that of my new country? Too troublesome I tell you.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;But I usually poop at around 6:55am anyway. Woot. After so, I take a bath.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;My brother complains that I spend way too much time in the bathroom and come out not so clean anyway. I always want to shove the soap up his piehole whenever he mentions that. What a brat. Doesn’t he know I do more than taking the usual bath in the bathroom?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;And no, I don’t do anything naughty. You wish. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Ok, so it usually takes me 45 minutes to take a bath. But I don’t spend all those time scrubbing myself. Good Lord, I don’t. Wouldn’t your skin come off if you did that? Sheesh. No, 15 minutes is allotted for sitting in the T-bowl. 20 minutes just standing there naked and thinking of random stuffs. 2 minutes waiting for the pail to be full (NO, I do not use the shower. I always get surprised on the first drops of water hitting my skin. And I hate surprises.) 2 minutes and 30 seconds for some quick pre-bath stretching. 30 minutes admiring the water overflowing the pail. Then finally, 5 minutes for shampooing and scrubbing myself. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;I always have a ‘thought for the day’ and most of the time, I would start thinking them during my 20 minutes of nakedness in the bathroom. My thought for the day subjects were boundless. It could be about anything, from the mundane ones (eg. the length of the nails of my fourth finger) to more sophisticated philosophical musings (eg. the origin of idealism and its manifestation in the real world – ohyeahi’msosmartdieinenvynowDIE). And today was no different.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;I had the perfect subject for my naked session. He had been invading my dreams for quite some time now. For the past few nights, I keep on seeing him and it’s always the same thing. Only that the dream feels like it’s happening on different days. Like I’m seeing him in the same circumstances only on different days. His face was a blur during the early dreams but last night was completely different. This time around I could clearly see his face. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;And that violet hair. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Just thinking of him makes my heart go *ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump* like it has never *ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump*ed before. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;Too bad I can’t today. I curse as I hurriedly stripped myself off of my PJs and turned the shower on. 6:58. Damn, I’m late. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:11;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;(…to be continued)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1722170912508697081-5840454744666238996?l=storynibambam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/feeds/5840454744666238996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1722170912508697081&amp;postID=5840454744666238996' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1722170912508697081/posts/default/5840454744666238996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1722170912508697081/posts/default/5840454744666238996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/2008/06/violet-hair.html' title='Violet Hair'/><author><name>Eba "Bambam" Desabelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09280178117212306999</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4qbMgRmxNfk/TZiqdJkAFkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/So1WS90WVS8/s220/barfield%2Bshirt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722170912508697081.post-9120430806740315305</id><published>2008-06-24T09:56:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T10:03:28.091+08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='from the author'/><title type='text'>Author's Note I</title><content type='html'>This weblog will contain 'The Story'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I really haven't thought about the final title of this supposedly 'blog novel' but I'd get to that as the story goes on. Spontaneity! Spontaneity! Anyhoo, I don't expect anyone ever visiting this place (mwahaha) but if ever YOU (yes, YOU!) stumble upon my humble second abode, do leave a comment or two. I'd appreciate it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No hate comments though. I do NOT appreciate that.  Mwehehe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, let the story begin!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1722170912508697081-9120430806740315305?l=storynibambam.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/feeds/9120430806740315305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1722170912508697081&amp;postID=9120430806740315305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1722170912508697081/posts/default/9120430806740315305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1722170912508697081/posts/default/9120430806740315305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storynibambam.blogspot.com/2008/06/authors-notes-1.html' title='Author&apos;s Note I'/><author><name>Eba "Bambam" Desabelle</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09280178117212306999</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4qbMgRmxNfk/TZiqdJkAFkI/AAAAAAAAAB4/So1WS90WVS8/s220/barfield%2Bshirt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
