So, tomorrow a new life begins for me.
A life of regimentation.
A life of training.
A life of combat.
A life of Army.
Guess I must say I'm ready and excited for it.
Of course I'm sure there'll be times I'll be tested like mad.
Times when I'll get in trouble for so many things I didn't do.
Times when it's me who gets everybody in trouble.
Times when I feel like crap and don't think I can go on any longer.
Times where I feel like condemning everyone on earth and beyond.
Times where I'll hate everything.
Times where I'll feel as if God isn't there for me anymore.
All I can ask is that you pray for me, for my life in isolation of everything civilised.
My computer cam is down so I can't show you a picture of my nice long hair and new army specs, but I guess you'll get to see me with a new hairdo soon enough.
Sms me k?
I definitely won't be ableto call you or sms you back every night cos I'll be super duper busy with all the admin, training and packing for next day, but I will try my best to and will APPRECIATE it very very much as its my only form of contact with the outside world!
RAWR!!!!
CHAAAAAARRRGEE!!!!!!!!!!!
Cheers happy world =)
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
A Story
Here is a heartwarming story for all of you. I'll admit I almost cried at the end.
Totally kope-d from Max Lucado.
Watch out for my last post on thursday =)
The Parable
Five year old Madeline climbed into her father’s lap.
‘Did you have enough to eat?” he asked her.
She smiled and patted her tummy. ‘I can’t eat any more.”
“Did you have some of your grandma’s pie?”
‘‘A whole piece!”
Joe looked across the table at his mom.
“Looks like you are filled up. Don’t think we will be able to do anything tonight but go to bed.”
Madeline put her little hands on either side of his big face. “Oh, but, Poppa, this is Christmas Eve. You said we could dance.”
Joe feigned a poor memory.
"Did I now? Why, I don’t remember saying anything about dancing.”
Grandma smiled and shook her head as she began clearing the table.
“But Poppa”, Madeline pleaded, “we always dance on Christmas Eve. Just you and me, remember?”
A smile burst from beneath his thick mustache. “Of course I remember, darling. How could I forget?”
And with that he stood and took her hand in his, and for a moment, just a moment, his wife was alive again, and the two were walking into the den to spend another night before Christmas as they had spent so many, dancing away the evening.
They would have danced the rest of their lives, but then came the surprise pregnancy and the complications. Madeline survived. But her mother did not. And Joe, the thick handed butcher from Minnesota was left to raise his Madeline alone.
“Come on Poppa.” She tugged on his hand. “Let’s dance before everyone arrives.”
She was right. Soon the doorbell would ring and the relatives would fill the floor and the night would be past. But for now, it was just Poppa and Madeline.
____________________________
Rebellion blew into Joe’s world like a Minnesota blizzard. About the time Madeline was old enough to drive she decided she was old enough to lead her life. And that life did not include her father.
“I should have seen it coming,” Joe would later say, “but for the life of me I didn’t.”
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to handle the pierced nose and the tight shirts. He didn’t understand the late nights and the poor grades. And most of all, he didn’t know when to speak and when to be quiet.
She on the other hand, had it all figured out. She knew when to speak to her father-never. She knew when to be quiet-always. The pattern was reversed, however, with the lanky, tattooed kid from down the street. He was no good, and Joe knew it. And there was no way he was going to spend Christmas Eve with that kid.
“You’ll be with us tonight, young lady. You’ll be at your grandma’s house eating your grandma’s pie. You’ll be with us on Christmas Eve.”
Though they were at the same table, they might as well have been on different sides of the town. Madeline played with her food and said nothing. Grandma tried to talk to Joe, but he was in no mood to chat. Part of him was angry; part of him was heartbroken. And the rest of him would have given anything to know how to talk to this girl who once sat on his lap.
Soon the relatives arrived, bringing with them an end to the awkward silence. As the room filled with noise and people, Joe stayed on one side, Madeline sat sullenly on the other.
“Put on the music, Joe," reminded one of his brothers. And so he did. Thinking she would be honored, he turned and walked toward his daughter.
“Will you dance with your Poppa tonight?”
The way she huffed and turned you would have thought he’d insulted her. In full view of the family, she walked out the front door and marched down the sidewalk, leaving her father alone. Very much alone.
_______________________________________
Madeline came back that night but not for long. Joe never faulted her for leaving. After all, what’s it like being the daughter of a butcher? In their last days together he tried so hard.
He made her favorite dinner-she didn’t want to eat. He invited her to a movie-she just stayed in her room. He bought her a new dress-she didn’t even say thank you. And then there was that spring day he left work early to be at the house when she arrived home from school.
Wouldn’t you know that was the day she never came home.
A friend saw her and her boyfriend in the vicinity of the bus station. The authorities confirmed the purchase of a ticket to Chicago; where she went from there was anybody’s guess.
_____________________________________
The scrawny boy with the tattoos had a cousin. The cousin worked the night shift at a convenience store south of Houston. For a few bucks a month, he would let the runaways stay in his apartment at night, but they had to be out during the day. Which was fine with them. They had big plans. He was going to be a mechanic, and Madeline knew she could get a job at a department store. Of course he knew nothing about cars, and she knew even less about getting a job-but you don’t think about things like that when you’re intoxicated on freedom.
After a couple of weeks, the cousin changed his mind. And the day he announced his decision, the boyfriend announced his. Madeline found herself facing the night with no place to sleep or hand to hold.It was just the first of many such nights.
A woman in the park told her about the homeless shelter near the bridge. For a couple of bucks she could get a bowl of soup and a cot. A couple of bucks was all she had. She used her backpack as a pillow and jacket as a blanket.
The room was so rowdy it was hard to sleep. Madeline turned her face to the wall and, for the first time in several days, thought of the whiskered face of her father kissing her goodnight. But as her eyes began to water, she refused to cry. She pushed the memory deep inside and determined not to think about home. She’d gone too far to go back.
The next morning, the girl in the cot beside her showed her a fistful of tips she’d made dancing on tables.
“This is the last night I’ll have to stay here,” she said. “Now I can pay for my own place. They told me they are looking for another girl. You should come by.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchbook. “Here’s the address.”
Madeline’s stomach turned at the thought. All she could do was mumble, “I’ll think about it.”
She spent the rest of the week on the streets looking for work. At the end of the week when it was time to pay her bill at the shelter she reached into her pocket and pulled out the matchbook. It was all she had left.
“I won’t be staying tonight,” she said and walked out the door. Hunger has a way of softening convictions.
___________________________________
If Madeline knew anything she knew how to dance. Her father had taught her. Now men the age of her father watched her.
She didn’t rationalize it-she just didn’t think about it. Madeline simply did her work and took their dollars. She might never have thought about it, except for the letters. The cousin brought them. Not one, or two, but a box full. All addressed to her. All from her father.
“Your old boyfriend must have squealed on you. These come two or three a week,” complained the cousin. “Give him your address.”
Oh, but she couldn’t do that. He might find her. Nor could she bear to open the envelopes. She knew what they said; he wanted her home. But if he knew what she was doing, he wouldn’t be writing. It seemed less painful not to read them. So she didn’t. Not that week, nor the next when the cousin brought more, nor the next when he came again. She kept them in a dressing room at the club, organized according to postmark. She ran her finger over the top of each one but couldn’t bear to open one.
Most days Madeline was able to numb the emotions. Thoughts of home and thoughts of shame were shoved into the same part of her heart. But there were occasions when the thoughts were too strong to resist. Like the time she saw a dress in the clothing store window. A dress the same color as the one her father had purchased for her. A dress that had been far too plain for her.
With much reluctance she had put it on and stood with him before the mirror.
“My, you are as tall as I am,” he had told her.
She had stiffened at his touch. Seeing her weary face reflected in the store window, Madeline realized she’d give a thousand dresses to feel his arm again. She left the store and resolved not to pass by it again.
_______________________________________
In time the leaves fell and the air chilled. The mail came and the cousin complained and stack of letters grew. Still she refused to send him an address. And she refused to read a letter. Then a few days before Christmas Eve another letter arrived. Same shape. Same color. But this one had no postmark. And it was not delivered by the cousin. It was sitting on her dressing room table.
“A couple of days ago a big man stopped by and asked me to give this to you,” explained on of the other dancers. “Said you’d understand the message.”
“He was here?’ she asked anxiously.
The woman shrugged, “Suppose he had to be.”
Madeline swallowed hard and looked at the envelope. She opened it and removed the card.
“I know where you are,” it read. “I know what you do. This doesn’t change the way I feel. What I’ve said in each letter is still true.”
“But I don’t know what you’ve said,’ Madeline declared.
She pulled a letter from the top of the stack and read it. Then a second and a third. Each letter has the same exact sentence. Each sentence asked the same question. In a matter of moments the floor was littered with paper, and her face was streaked with tears.Within an hour she was on a bus.
“I just might make it in time.”
She barely did.
The relatives were starting to leave. Joe was helping Grandma in the kitchen when his brother called from the suddenly quiet den.
“Joe, someone is here to see you.” Joe stepped out of the kitchen and stopped.
In one hand the girl held a backpack. In the other she held a card. He saw the question in her eyes.
“The answer is ‘yes,’” she said to her father. “If the invitation is still good, the answer is ‘yes.’"
Joe swallowed hard.
“Oh my. The invitation is good.”
And so the two danced again on Christmas Eve. On the floor, near the door, rested a letter with Madeline’s name and her father’s request.
“Will you come home and dance with your Poppa again?”
Totally kope-d from Max Lucado.
Watch out for my last post on thursday =)
The Parable
Five year old Madeline climbed into her father’s lap.
‘Did you have enough to eat?” he asked her.
She smiled and patted her tummy. ‘I can’t eat any more.”
“Did you have some of your grandma’s pie?”
‘‘A whole piece!”
Joe looked across the table at his mom.
“Looks like you are filled up. Don’t think we will be able to do anything tonight but go to bed.”
Madeline put her little hands on either side of his big face. “Oh, but, Poppa, this is Christmas Eve. You said we could dance.”
Joe feigned a poor memory.
"Did I now? Why, I don’t remember saying anything about dancing.”
Grandma smiled and shook her head as she began clearing the table.
“But Poppa”, Madeline pleaded, “we always dance on Christmas Eve. Just you and me, remember?”
A smile burst from beneath his thick mustache. “Of course I remember, darling. How could I forget?”
And with that he stood and took her hand in his, and for a moment, just a moment, his wife was alive again, and the two were walking into the den to spend another night before Christmas as they had spent so many, dancing away the evening.
They would have danced the rest of their lives, but then came the surprise pregnancy and the complications. Madeline survived. But her mother did not. And Joe, the thick handed butcher from Minnesota was left to raise his Madeline alone.
“Come on Poppa.” She tugged on his hand. “Let’s dance before everyone arrives.”
She was right. Soon the doorbell would ring and the relatives would fill the floor and the night would be past. But for now, it was just Poppa and Madeline.
____________________________
Rebellion blew into Joe’s world like a Minnesota blizzard. About the time Madeline was old enough to drive she decided she was old enough to lead her life. And that life did not include her father.
“I should have seen it coming,” Joe would later say, “but for the life of me I didn’t.”
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to handle the pierced nose and the tight shirts. He didn’t understand the late nights and the poor grades. And most of all, he didn’t know when to speak and when to be quiet.
She on the other hand, had it all figured out. She knew when to speak to her father-never. She knew when to be quiet-always. The pattern was reversed, however, with the lanky, tattooed kid from down the street. He was no good, and Joe knew it. And there was no way he was going to spend Christmas Eve with that kid.
“You’ll be with us tonight, young lady. You’ll be at your grandma’s house eating your grandma’s pie. You’ll be with us on Christmas Eve.”
Though they were at the same table, they might as well have been on different sides of the town. Madeline played with her food and said nothing. Grandma tried to talk to Joe, but he was in no mood to chat. Part of him was angry; part of him was heartbroken. And the rest of him would have given anything to know how to talk to this girl who once sat on his lap.
Soon the relatives arrived, bringing with them an end to the awkward silence. As the room filled with noise and people, Joe stayed on one side, Madeline sat sullenly on the other.
“Put on the music, Joe," reminded one of his brothers. And so he did. Thinking she would be honored, he turned and walked toward his daughter.
“Will you dance with your Poppa tonight?”
The way she huffed and turned you would have thought he’d insulted her. In full view of the family, she walked out the front door and marched down the sidewalk, leaving her father alone. Very much alone.
_______________________________________
Madeline came back that night but not for long. Joe never faulted her for leaving. After all, what’s it like being the daughter of a butcher? In their last days together he tried so hard.
He made her favorite dinner-she didn’t want to eat. He invited her to a movie-she just stayed in her room. He bought her a new dress-she didn’t even say thank you. And then there was that spring day he left work early to be at the house when she arrived home from school.
Wouldn’t you know that was the day she never came home.
A friend saw her and her boyfriend in the vicinity of the bus station. The authorities confirmed the purchase of a ticket to Chicago; where she went from there was anybody’s guess.
_____________________________________
The scrawny boy with the tattoos had a cousin. The cousin worked the night shift at a convenience store south of Houston. For a few bucks a month, he would let the runaways stay in his apartment at night, but they had to be out during the day. Which was fine with them. They had big plans. He was going to be a mechanic, and Madeline knew she could get a job at a department store. Of course he knew nothing about cars, and she knew even less about getting a job-but you don’t think about things like that when you’re intoxicated on freedom.
After a couple of weeks, the cousin changed his mind. And the day he announced his decision, the boyfriend announced his. Madeline found herself facing the night with no place to sleep or hand to hold.It was just the first of many such nights.
A woman in the park told her about the homeless shelter near the bridge. For a couple of bucks she could get a bowl of soup and a cot. A couple of bucks was all she had. She used her backpack as a pillow and jacket as a blanket.
The room was so rowdy it was hard to sleep. Madeline turned her face to the wall and, for the first time in several days, thought of the whiskered face of her father kissing her goodnight. But as her eyes began to water, she refused to cry. She pushed the memory deep inside and determined not to think about home. She’d gone too far to go back.
The next morning, the girl in the cot beside her showed her a fistful of tips she’d made dancing on tables.
“This is the last night I’ll have to stay here,” she said. “Now I can pay for my own place. They told me they are looking for another girl. You should come by.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchbook. “Here’s the address.”
Madeline’s stomach turned at the thought. All she could do was mumble, “I’ll think about it.”
She spent the rest of the week on the streets looking for work. At the end of the week when it was time to pay her bill at the shelter she reached into her pocket and pulled out the matchbook. It was all she had left.
“I won’t be staying tonight,” she said and walked out the door. Hunger has a way of softening convictions.
___________________________________
If Madeline knew anything she knew how to dance. Her father had taught her. Now men the age of her father watched her.
She didn’t rationalize it-she just didn’t think about it. Madeline simply did her work and took their dollars. She might never have thought about it, except for the letters. The cousin brought them. Not one, or two, but a box full. All addressed to her. All from her father.
“Your old boyfriend must have squealed on you. These come two or three a week,” complained the cousin. “Give him your address.”
Oh, but she couldn’t do that. He might find her. Nor could she bear to open the envelopes. She knew what they said; he wanted her home. But if he knew what she was doing, he wouldn’t be writing. It seemed less painful not to read them. So she didn’t. Not that week, nor the next when the cousin brought more, nor the next when he came again. She kept them in a dressing room at the club, organized according to postmark. She ran her finger over the top of each one but couldn’t bear to open one.
Most days Madeline was able to numb the emotions. Thoughts of home and thoughts of shame were shoved into the same part of her heart. But there were occasions when the thoughts were too strong to resist. Like the time she saw a dress in the clothing store window. A dress the same color as the one her father had purchased for her. A dress that had been far too plain for her.
With much reluctance she had put it on and stood with him before the mirror.
“My, you are as tall as I am,” he had told her.
She had stiffened at his touch. Seeing her weary face reflected in the store window, Madeline realized she’d give a thousand dresses to feel his arm again. She left the store and resolved not to pass by it again.
_______________________________________
In time the leaves fell and the air chilled. The mail came and the cousin complained and stack of letters grew. Still she refused to send him an address. And she refused to read a letter. Then a few days before Christmas Eve another letter arrived. Same shape. Same color. But this one had no postmark. And it was not delivered by the cousin. It was sitting on her dressing room table.
“A couple of days ago a big man stopped by and asked me to give this to you,” explained on of the other dancers. “Said you’d understand the message.”
“He was here?’ she asked anxiously.
The woman shrugged, “Suppose he had to be.”
Madeline swallowed hard and looked at the envelope. She opened it and removed the card.
“I know where you are,” it read. “I know what you do. This doesn’t change the way I feel. What I’ve said in each letter is still true.”
“But I don’t know what you’ve said,’ Madeline declared.
She pulled a letter from the top of the stack and read it. Then a second and a third. Each letter has the same exact sentence. Each sentence asked the same question. In a matter of moments the floor was littered with paper, and her face was streaked with tears.Within an hour she was on a bus.
“I just might make it in time.”
She barely did.
The relatives were starting to leave. Joe was helping Grandma in the kitchen when his brother called from the suddenly quiet den.
“Joe, someone is here to see you.” Joe stepped out of the kitchen and stopped.
In one hand the girl held a backpack. In the other she held a card. He saw the question in her eyes.
“The answer is ‘yes,’” she said to her father. “If the invitation is still good, the answer is ‘yes.’"
Joe swallowed hard.
“Oh my. The invitation is good.”
And so the two danced again on Christmas Eve. On the floor, near the door, rested a letter with Madeline’s name and her father’s request.
“Will you come home and dance with your Poppa again?”
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
esteem
Here are some thoughts I had/have.
How do I look?
Will he say my shirt is nice?
Will she notice my hair?
Will they realise that my belt buckle is new?
Do I really look better in jeans than in berms?
Will this/that look better styled in this/that way? x 100
Really?
But I thought... x 100
Oh I'm not that sure!
But but... x200
What if I did it this way? Compromise?
Will he/she like me more after seeing how uber-good looking I am in this tonight/today? x infinity!
Now come on.
Fess' up, how many of you are like that too? Or much much worse?
Let me give you self-esteem lesson 101.
Okay this may be copyrighted, or it may not cos it's in my own words. But for safety's sake lets just put it as they aren't originally mine as much as I wish.
Having such thoughts are never going to end, and having them doesnt necessarily mean you have a problem with self esteem.
I am going to address the area concerned with how you are perceived by others, and how it's just NOT SUCH A BIG DEAL.
Now, people, being the self-centered human beings that we are, are most concerned with how we appear to others.
We fuss over every single detail, and we want to make ourselves look the best.
This is not wrong, but with the images of beauty constantly stereotyping us whether we want it or not, sometimes we lose sight of the true meaning of beauty.
We constantly cripple our worldview of ourself to one that is less than desirable and think that we constantly are not "good looking" enough.
We may never think so in fact.
And with this comes in a constant sense of insecurity, worry, doubt and even fear.
Magnified, it could lead to a total loss of self-esteem or confidence.
Let me now make it simple for you.
PEOPLE CARE MORE ABOUT HOW THEY ARE PERCEIVED THAN HOW THEY PERCEIVE OTHERS.
Got that?
Want to read it again?
Okay let me give you a simple scenario.
Take a concert or outing for example, it doesnt even have to be at a bar or wherever.
You see someone attractive and the person is staring back at you.
Your first thoughts are:
"Is everything in place?"
(You then do a check from head to toe even though you already have 300 times)
Then:
"Does he/she like how I look?"
And the questions go on and on.
But on the other hand, the other party is thinking exactly the same thing as you are.
EXACTLY THE SAME THING!
Or pretty much.
This is an assumption for the majority of people.
Now let me open the doors for you.
The ones who make it, not only relationally but socially as well, are those who know this exact thing and are able to overcome it.
Those who do not really care about how good they look, be it they already know or they just can't care less, those are the ones who have all the confidence and drive to do what they want.
Why?
Becaused the aren't hindered by "worry" or "insecurity" or "timidness".
They are the ones who can go out and literally play the field.
Don't be so concerned about how you look, for honestly, not more than a handful of people really care.
Like 95% of people will have forgotten how you look the next day or week, so get over your fear!
If someone truly cares for you, then only his/her/their opinions should matter, and using that just follow and believe.
Eventually you'll reach a stage where you'll know well for yourself and then once the confidence and esteem is foundationalised, the world is yours to grasp.
It's funny how this is such a secret when it's kind of common sensical actually.
But honestly, how many people actually know it?
How many people can actually do it?
Why is there still such a host of commercialised programmes to reveal this simple secret?
Because people have a simple want to be assured, to be encouraged.
Yea sure, it does help from time to time now and then, but you'll only get so far. To move on to the next level and beyond, it requires a simple belief in oneself.
Faith in others and ultimately, yourself.
I see this so clearly in one of my closest friends, all the qualities I mention and I can see how he is so going to make it in the future.
Here is his secret for you, worked out simply by the observation guru 101.
Next time you go out into a community, feel good at the power you have knowing that the people you see care much too much about how they look than to give 2cents about you.
Thats basically all they're concerned with perception wise, and if you can just get over your insecurities, you'll find its so much easier to enjoy your time;
So much easier to enjoy life judgement free; in a sense.
Just believe, for afterall, who really cares?
And to those who truly care, your appearance doesn't matter.
Cheers =D
go rule the world already.
How do I look?
Will he say my shirt is nice?
Will she notice my hair?
Will they realise that my belt buckle is new?
Do I really look better in jeans than in berms?
Will this/that look better styled in this/that way? x 100
Really?
But I thought... x 100
Oh I'm not that sure!
But but... x200
What if I did it this way? Compromise?
Will he/she like me more after seeing how uber-good looking I am in this tonight/today? x infinity!
Now come on.
Fess' up, how many of you are like that too? Or much much worse?
Let me give you self-esteem lesson 101.
Okay this may be copyrighted, or it may not cos it's in my own words. But for safety's sake lets just put it as they aren't originally mine as much as I wish.
Having such thoughts are never going to end, and having them doesnt necessarily mean you have a problem with self esteem.
I am going to address the area concerned with how you are perceived by others, and how it's just NOT SUCH A BIG DEAL.
Now, people, being the self-centered human beings that we are, are most concerned with how we appear to others.
We fuss over every single detail, and we want to make ourselves look the best.
This is not wrong, but with the images of beauty constantly stereotyping us whether we want it or not, sometimes we lose sight of the true meaning of beauty.
We constantly cripple our worldview of ourself to one that is less than desirable and think that we constantly are not "good looking" enough.
We may never think so in fact.
And with this comes in a constant sense of insecurity, worry, doubt and even fear.
Magnified, it could lead to a total loss of self-esteem or confidence.
Let me now make it simple for you.
PEOPLE CARE MORE ABOUT HOW THEY ARE PERCEIVED THAN HOW THEY PERCEIVE OTHERS.
Got that?
Want to read it again?
Okay let me give you a simple scenario.
Take a concert or outing for example, it doesnt even have to be at a bar or wherever.
You see someone attractive and the person is staring back at you.
Your first thoughts are:
"Is everything in place?"
(You then do a check from head to toe even though you already have 300 times)
Then:
"Does he/she like how I look?"
And the questions go on and on.
But on the other hand, the other party is thinking exactly the same thing as you are.
EXACTLY THE SAME THING!
Or pretty much.
This is an assumption for the majority of people.
Now let me open the doors for you.
The ones who make it, not only relationally but socially as well, are those who know this exact thing and are able to overcome it.
Those who do not really care about how good they look, be it they already know or they just can't care less, those are the ones who have all the confidence and drive to do what they want.
Why?
Becaused the aren't hindered by "worry" or "insecurity" or "timidness".
They are the ones who can go out and literally play the field.
Don't be so concerned about how you look, for honestly, not more than a handful of people really care.
Like 95% of people will have forgotten how you look the next day or week, so get over your fear!
If someone truly cares for you, then only his/her/their opinions should matter, and using that just follow and believe.
Eventually you'll reach a stage where you'll know well for yourself and then once the confidence and esteem is foundationalised, the world is yours to grasp.
It's funny how this is such a secret when it's kind of common sensical actually.
But honestly, how many people actually know it?
How many people can actually do it?
Why is there still such a host of commercialised programmes to reveal this simple secret?
Because people have a simple want to be assured, to be encouraged.
Yea sure, it does help from time to time now and then, but you'll only get so far. To move on to the next level and beyond, it requires a simple belief in oneself.
Faith in others and ultimately, yourself.
I see this so clearly in one of my closest friends, all the qualities I mention and I can see how he is so going to make it in the future.
Here is his secret for you, worked out simply by the observation guru 101.
Next time you go out into a community, feel good at the power you have knowing that the people you see care much too much about how they look than to give 2cents about you.
Thats basically all they're concerned with perception wise, and if you can just get over your insecurities, you'll find its so much easier to enjoy your time;
So much easier to enjoy life judgement free; in a sense.
Just believe, for afterall, who really cares?
And to those who truly care, your appearance doesn't matter.
Cheers =D
go rule the world already.
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