<?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-1976288824750828550</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:49:54.958-07:00</updated><title type='text'>happenstance</title><subtitle type='html'>when life is so much more than what's in our hands</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-1416899089610819893</id><published>2007-11-02T08:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T09:14:22.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back for good?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I have been away for the longest time. In fact I have been back home for a week now but was busy cleaning up the mess I left behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how we only notice the mess in our lives after taking a good break outside of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;..................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was something impromptu I did and I am relieved that I did it. One morning I woke up and decided I wanted a break from this routine - 7am snooze - the same face on the mirror with the after shave- the same cup of java with the same coffee machine since the past 3 years - get caught in the jam for a good 45 minutes while listening to the Hitz Morning Crew- that's it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I made a turn and took the car to the airport and watched it planes flew. Feeling a tinge of unfamiliar but exhilarating freedom after calling in sick,  I stood beyond the runway with my arms folded and thought, "Wouldn't it be great if I am in Bali right now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;.................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three days after saw me packing my backpack for Bali. Boss thought I needed a break as well - to clear up my accumulated annual leave.&lt;br /&gt;"It's just going to be a pinch without you here. Go, Bali waits!" he chirped more eagerly than I could - as if he could not contain his joy of seeing me leave.&lt;br /&gt;Mr. D - as I would call him, is a man of his own distinction. Though with many years of being in the advertising industries, he kept his feet (and also the others) firmly on the ground and I respect his ways of seeing things that people normally take for granted. He saw beyond the surface and into the character and lives with the belief that everyone deserves their chances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so he believed in my chance to go for a much deserved holiday in Bali - so much so, that  my air fare is complimentary from Mr. D (and it is not even a year end bonus).&lt;br /&gt;If you wonder if I suck up to him at work, let's just say it's all about being in the right place at the right time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;....................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Bali was great. I spent a good week there and I even learned how to surf at Ulu Watu (though for every 5 times I got on the board I fall 6 times- did I say 6 times? The waves are just so intimidating). But most of the time I would just travel on foot for sight-seeing; pointing and shooting whatever that caught my eyes around the town of Nusa Dua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the third day I decided to pack my bag again and went up north to Sanur then to Denpasar  for the arts and cultural heritage. I loved the details that forms the Balinese art and culture, it has a certain mystical air and nature that draws my attention like no other. It had its element revolving around nature while being mysterious at the same time - something that always win my curiosity over. Upon hearing that there was more of these in Ubud, I travelled up north again at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And in Ubud was where I stayed on for the rest of the week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;.................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It was the place I thought that I should have came long time ago. Being in Ubud has somehow awaken my deep senses, something that has been suppressed by work and routine back where I came from. The exotic music, the fine art performances, the handwork, the culture, the food. Everything about it ignites my senses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even the senses which I have been trying to suppress myself-when I caught myself wishing she was sitting in front of me enjoying the local cuisine as much as I was. Then suddenly the food tasted bland. Her jeans should be lying on the bed next to my shirt- and that night the single bed felt so empty for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;We could have came to this place together and I know that it was meant to be. Heck, we might even start a life here and never go back to Malaysia. She knew me and I knew her, cheesy but she finishes up my sentences and knows it when I want a back rub. I knew where she wanted to be just one look into her eyes, I knew the small wrinkles on her nose when she grins - but what I didn't know was that she loved me so much until it breaks her heart. I did not see that coming...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;...............&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Ubud would be where we belong. If she is willing to forgive, let go and forget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Everyone deserve their chances," said Mr. D.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I needed that chance so badly and she tore it away as if she was the only one who felt the pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ubud soothed that throbbing pain that I tried to numb with my job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of us would belong here. We'd let Ubud take that dark stain and make it beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was 2 weeks ago. Before the trip to Bali, work piled up to my nose and blogging certainly does not feel like a valid vocabulary to me. But now that I am back, I felt the need to engrave this memory I had in Bali. Knowing that at the end of the day, no matter where I'd be... she's always there. And I don't just want her everywhere anymore, I want her here - right next to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;And now that I am back with new breath in my lungs, am I back for good to mend things up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will she give me a chance that does not torture me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess Ubud has showed me that it is worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-1416899089610819893?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/1416899089610819893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=1416899089610819893' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/1416899089610819893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/1416899089610819893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/11/back-for-good.html' title='Back for good?'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-196899421020547766</id><published>2007-08-29T18:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T22:54:12.883-07:00</updated><title type='text'>About Cynewulf Part 2</title><content type='html'>A continuation in discovering more about myself...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I found myself sitting in front of the laptop with  my fingers furiously punching the keys, sending incomprehensible lines of words running across the glossy screen. "What do I write about myself today?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My childhood was nothing extravagant, nevertheless poignant. I remembered the days of running barefooted ahead of my grandmother's scream into the muddy field - getting myself all dirty and puffing for breath. It was something I loved to do after the rain in the late afternoon; the smell of earth mixed with the raw grass enthralled me - and it still does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being kept under the watchful eyes of my granma, I didn't really had a time of liberty to act like how a true young boy would be. I flew my kite next to my dog while the other boys flew their's behind their bicycles, I sat on the bench while I watched them climb trees and skin their knees on its rough barks and I drew the fishes under the sea behind the window while they played football out there. I wished I had friends who I can play with - or at least talk with. My dog, Astro was my only faithful companion, with its spitz-dog enthusiasm - I found contentment in being his master. Astro was very much like me, enthusiastic but always running to the wrong things, adorable but misunderstood, faithful but forlorn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was the only son after my elder brother passed on - thus explains the over- protectiveness of my family towards their little bundle of "joy". I never had a look at my brother as I was still confined within the bars of my crib. I could barely speak my first word before he succumbed to leaukemia. My family did not kept memories of my brother away from me, for some reasons I felt was too obsecure to understand. My mom would talk about him when she bathes me, granma would tell me his favourite dishes when she cooks a storm in the kitchen and pa still tucks my brother's photo within the folds of his wallet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wore his clothes, I played his toys and there are times in my young mind I wished that he was still around. I would have someone to climb the trees with, he would ride the bicycle while I sit behind flying the kite and I would have the guts to play football with the other kids because he would approach them first. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was five years of being with myself and Astro (he came when I was 3 and I named him after my then favourite cartoon character, Astro Boy) before my younger brother arrived into the quiet house. Wrapped snugly in a blue blanket, he was anything but a picture of serenity - his cries and screams entered through the door even before he does. There and then I knew, my life was about to change and Astro standing next to me stared unblinkingly at the squirming pink creature in my mother's arms. We call him Chris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day after day, I grew to be used to his cries, then his laughs, then his gu-ga-ga talks, then his swaying baby steps, then his mess after each meals, and the list goes on. As he grew, I grew also - out of my brother's clothes and I watched Chris play with the toys which I used to. The trees doesn't look so tall now, I could balance my own bicycle and I have made new friends - Leong, Rus and Raz from the football team. Astro has grown older now, he runs slower after the stick but good enough to  entertain Chris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It did not take long before I realized the new role I had to play.  I am the older brother to Chris now. &lt;br /&gt;He would be wearing my clothes now, he would play my toys now, he would ask me to draw him all the fishes under the sea. And I will care for him as how I wished my older brother would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-196899421020547766?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/196899421020547766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=196899421020547766' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/196899421020547766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/196899421020547766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/08/about-cynewulf-part-2.html' title='About Cynewulf Part 2'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-4226018736043307340</id><published>2007-08-28T00:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-28T01:00:52.429-07:00</updated><title type='text'>About Cynewulf Part 1</title><content type='html'>After 3 blog posts that obsecurely represents myself, I guess it is time for a self introduction to those who bothered to read this blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This blog came into being one lazy Sunday afternoon, with a cup of java in my hands and Stephen King's Different Seasons on the other, with no plans after a hectic week at work. I took a seat on my unutilised couch, right in front of the laptop's glossy screen and saw my own reflection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And decided there and then to have a blog. Its nothing significant, being lost in the myriad of blogs all around the world, but what the heck... working in an advertising agency has drained me technically. Why not store up whatever personal touch of myself in this cyber escape before I lose it all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here goes... something abuot myself but nothing more than is required to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My name isn't excalty Cynewulf (as most of you english lit freaks can tell) but I have been fascinated by this name since I was in high school. I read his works between the dog-eared and yellowed pages of a post-colonnial publication, staked heavily beneath the dusty age-old books in the library. I relate to his writing until today and that is how the name came up: Cynewulf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My real name? Call me Caleb.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-4226018736043307340?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/4226018736043307340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=4226018736043307340' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/4226018736043307340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/4226018736043307340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/08/about-cynewulf-part-1.html' title='About Cynewulf Part 1'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-8851582223900032649</id><published>2007-08-19T08:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T09:08:16.151-07:00</updated><title type='text'>harap</title><content type='html'>Andai harimu berakhir tanpa senyuman&lt;br /&gt;Akan ku ukirkan dengan isi hatiku&lt;br /&gt;Walau gelita malam sanggup menyejuk&lt;br /&gt;Akan ku hibakan tanganmu dalam tanganku&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Biar masa berlalu tanpamu&lt;br /&gt;Tapi jangan benarkan aku tinggalkan mindamu&lt;br /&gt;Biar hari bertambah sunyi&lt;br /&gt;Jangan biarkan hatimu terkulai sepi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anggap aku yang menanti&lt;br /&gt;Anggap aku yang kasihi&lt;br /&gt;Anggap aku yang berharap&lt;br /&gt;Anggap aku yang setia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tak pernah aku merasakan cinta sindah ini&lt;br /&gt;Tak pernah aku merasakan rindu sedalam ini&lt;br /&gt;Tak pernah aku merasakan harapan sebenar ini&lt;br /&gt;Tak bisa inginkan yang lain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Selamanya, aku terjatuh&lt;br /&gt;Saban hari ku akan mencintaimu&lt;br /&gt;Walaupun wajahku tak ditenung&lt;br /&gt;Suaraku tak didengar&lt;br /&gt;Diriku tak disentuh&lt;br /&gt;Bisikan kasih tak disampai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Namun,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aku di sana - sampai dewiku sanggup menerima&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-8851582223900032649?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/8851582223900032649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=8851582223900032649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/8851582223900032649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/8851582223900032649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/08/harap.html' title='harap'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-9204861886958465576</id><published>2007-08-14T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T07:08:48.037-07:00</updated><title type='text'>life as i see it</title><content type='html'>time is unforgiving&lt;br /&gt;it outruns me when i wanted to catch my breath&lt;br /&gt;it stops right there when it hurts the most&lt;br /&gt;it wont turn back so i can mend my mistakes&lt;br /&gt;it wont turn back so i can see her again&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love is extreme&lt;br /&gt;it puts me on top of the world&lt;br /&gt;it puts me in the darkest hours&lt;br /&gt;it puts me in a daydream&lt;br /&gt;it puts me in a nightmare&lt;br /&gt;i am overwhelmed by joy&lt;br /&gt;i am overwhelmed by tears&lt;br /&gt;i am overwhelmed by guilt&lt;br /&gt;i am overwhelmed by pride&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;life is short&lt;br /&gt;where am i?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-9204861886958465576?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/9204861886958465576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=9204861886958465576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/9204861886958465576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/9204861886958465576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/08/life-as-i-see-it.html' title='life as i see it'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1976288824750828550.post-4485059891691896219</id><published>2007-08-14T03:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T03:06:19.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>prelude</title><content type='html'>Then he who created this world…honoured us and gave us gifts…and also sowed and set in the mind of men many kinds of wisdom of heart. One he allows to remember wise poems, sends him a noble understanding, through the spirit of his mouth. The man whose mind has been given the art of wisdom can say and sing all kinds of things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1976288824750828550-4485059891691896219?l=iamcynewulf.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/feeds/4485059891691896219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1976288824750828550&amp;postID=4485059891691896219' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/4485059891691896219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1976288824750828550/posts/default/4485059891691896219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://iamcynewulf.blogspot.com/2007/08/prelude.html' title='prelude'/><author><name>i am cynewulf</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11286816470647933835</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
