Okay, let's order ^ _ ^ U
I have a lot of things to update, and gossip to tell now that I have free time (although I'm not quite sure how long). So in the meantime ... I will talk about the little things that I have asked / wondered / questioned / threatened ... I am very sorry to have answered before but I've been really busy with school.
1. The stress of school. I survived. And yes ... are as tough as they are painted ... and more. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I found out the cause. It turns out that most people who come to study Japanese at this university are people who want to study a career in Japan. Thus, that explains the level, pace, quality and times. CH
TMLXC the moment I'm very happy with my notes and hours of work and sacrifice of my life (public and private) was worth Practical 149/150 99/100 in Japanese kanji and exhibitions, presentations and speeches with a note above 90. That means (other than my parents did not kill me) the next semester I will continue to pay 20000 yen a month ^ _ ^ I need money, the prices here are too expensive.
2. Address. Sorry muchoooooooooooooooo. Many people has asked me to pass my home address to send me something for Christmas or just have me located! I'm very sorry, very much. I could not even respond to mails ... but I've put on here right now for very. Maite
Madinabeitia
Dorado Chiba-ken 262-0032, Chiba-shi, Hanamigawa-ku-chou Makuhari
February 1421 2 211 Ryou Kanda Gaigodaigaku
Japan
3. Lareine. Then sip, sip ... last week I went to the concert of Lareine. On Friday, specifically. The title of the event was "Cinderella Fantasy", which I was in heaven, I love fairy tales. So I'll do a brief review, I know and I could spend the day writing to bore anyone who tries to read.
The doors opened at 6 and the concert started at 7. But as I was working until about 4 in my university, I could not arrive before half past 6. Effect: All the good sites were caught. For a time he had a good seat> _ \u0026lt;CHTKlaha euros is transferred to this trip Lareine?? : P
There were several encores: Lillie Charlotte (of course) and the second time I sang Cinderella Fantasy ... thus when I threw up because I had to get home before 11 pm ... so I ran out almost before the end and lost gloves on the road. I felt like Cinderella that day ... and back the following when reality hit me get to study like crazy for exams.
4. Mails. Muuuucho regret not responding to mails ... especially when so many people have been so kind to remember me these days and write up to tell me. People over which I was not expecting that at all ... v_v And I was so bundled that no conseguía take time. I really sorry ... but try to respond to emails these days and telling the other side of this. What may not be published and it is more to each person. Well, I mean.
And here I leave, it seems to me that no soul can bear all this talk.
A big kiss to everyone. Sorry I can not be more present but to know that I remember much of all and miss you.
to prontituuuuuuu ^ ^
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Wrist Synovitis Treatment it'll work out one way or another (after all, it's Christmas)
hat isn't obliged to release nutrients or provide pep. I don't mind the scarcity of most common and pleasing aspects in a regular drink, such as sweetener or caffeine; I will even enjoy a drink that lacks the commodity of basic refreshment. Lukewarm pop need no longer despair ! ![[info]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_tAMBEK3cFPcw-WgDuZ3PT-v-_avW8WZZgPoy9VaVmDEzgrS9BI7ob_WAK71tC0JDOIJPW3UkiX_UFXIBNnNcIiUvyABNXLHffMrFLiFVR7ZxoMhg=s0-d)
A year or so ago, Ryan travelled Chile on one of his larks and brought me back a souvenir from the house of Pablo Neruda, which I assume to have been La Sebastiana . The poster is a modest line drawing of a bird in the process of unfurling itself and underneath there is a quote that reads: Mi deber es vivir, morir, vivir ... (My duty, to live, to die, to live ...). I forgot the exact amount of posters he brought back to the Stateses it the alluring illusion of plump juiciness -- they are meant to clue visitors in on a particular food that was a favorite of mine, years ago, specifically 1999-2001, when I was more concerned with the weight of the food in the bag ( $ per lbs. of meat
), than health, taste, or consequence per se. Burgers are definitely not my favorite now, but a bedroom can only be characteristic of someone in the past, never someone in the present moment, which is the only state that interests me.
Returning to Ryan's apartment in Westwood, I remember that he was directing me towards the whereabouts of my gift, telling me to fetch it amongst his unpacked belongings, when I made the mistake of picking up the wrong poster. It was this error in judgment that effectively soured the reception of my gift proper. Attached to that mishap was an even more thorough feeling of embarassment, because in my vague goings-on, I might have thoughtlessly assumed that the posters were ALL mine; I believed myself to be the new owner of a SET of artifacts from South America. On the heels of such a bold misunderstanding, Ryan snatched the poster out of my hand and quickly pointed out which was which. His had a different design and motto, neither of which I dare mention, but I maintain its superiority over mine, since it was the first one I touched. Perhaps, he felt that the quote on my poster ( My duty, to live, to die, to live ... ) was more suited to my lifestyle or beliefs, and that's not a very bad guess, but I have to admit that lately I've been shirking this duty of dying, an occupation that I acquired around the age of fourteen.
I dislike the awkwardness that I feel when I'm being presented with a gift. This sensation is more than the normal discomfort of being thrown into a happy moment. I've deduced that it has nothing to do with physical revulsion; it is an assault on the intellect. I say that, during this transaction, there is a brief loss of self, a dip, followed by an uncomfortable gain. The process of receiving a gift causes someone's present being, their very existence, to swell up in size, large enough so that the walls will chafe it for an instant. The gift then proceeds to imbue the palms of the recipient with a feeling of excessive emptiness, which is only a feeling, bearing the gift in mind. The recipient is Malthus Encouraged to fill this sudden vacancy with symbolic expressions of gratitude Towards the giver, But none of this is Truly Deserved, the giver Because you unconsciously an imposition Committed Against the psyche of the recipient.
I do not give gifts precisely. I Tend to Forget Them Into the hands of Other People. None of the gifts I ever grant Give me the wonderful and Immediate satisfaction of Giving Them, Because I Can not know whether the gift will Actually Be Of Any Benefit. Of course, I'm talking about the peculiar gift of literature. Some People Are Known To Become disoriented When They're handed a book. However, I Should Imagine That my only friend Would Give Gifts That Are subject to Illicit brazen joy on the spot anbtlessly occur in increments all the while that they're away from each other. In this case, Ryan was aided by the seemingly permanent words in my Livejournal, which then grafted onto his memory, his memory of me. Oh, Livejournal, will you forever infringe upon real life?? It's easy to conclude that because I indulged in the activity of translating and writing about Neruda, because I expressed my admiration for him those years ago in a public post, I should be fascinated by all things Neruda from that day forward, for the rest of my life. Ryan, the thoughtful traveller, remembers my post by the simplest association and sees fit to flesh out my supposed fascination. The square peg in its place, somewhat in reverse, an interest clothed in merchandise. What can be more appropRIAT? I know it's hard to imagine, But Ryan is in Chile. Thrust Into an alien environment, a man is Forced to start building. Bewildered by His new surroundings, I venture to Obtain pieces of it in order to create Useful material. This is the nature of the gift. Upon viewing the gift-object, Ryan is infected by the germ of caprice That will Engender Usually the builder of a happy moment
(gift-giving). His mind conjures multiple images That blur in His mind for Sale less than a second. Stray faces, my face, poetry, the actual words of Neruda, a girl he'd like to dupe with Paul's verve, LJ; These fragments serve to blur the color.
So, Ryan Sees the poster showcased with the rest. A decision is borne of the confusion, the blur of thC doppelgänger. This herald is powered by the ecstatic Exclusively will of the giver. At the receipt, the herald Either I implodes or is re-absorbed by the recipient with slight discomfiture. For someone as perceptive as me, this feeling is magnified.
The Herald is a complete stranger to my self, HAVING Been Born In Another's mind, But Many bears have identifiable features inarguably That Are my own, pero far removed. In order for a gentle reader to feel my anxiety at receiving a gift, one must-Conceive of the anxiety of Being Introduced to someone new with the Catch That this someone new you
también
, and That this someone new también yours. The moment is vibrant with expectation, Recognition, Assimilation,etc. Please keep in mind a gift That is supposed to arouse a reaction and the Un Certain failure to evoke a fair Amount of gratitude Can Be misread as an insult. Did Ryan ever stop to think about how my jaw drop Would? The nemesis of a gift is disappointment and the Subsequent tragedy is similar to the embarrassment of a typo. I Believe That perfect gift is the One That surprises Both the giver and the recipient, so the Latter Does not feel like I've fallen Into a system of Favors. The perfect gift Should concentrate on pleasing the intellect, INSTEAD of the Senses, pleasing Because the Senses is commonplace and barbarous. I have to say, in all truth, That the poster / book Ryan Gave Me Was the unexpected best gift I've ever received, But I suppose What made it great That WAS m
A year or so ago, Ryan travelled Chile on one of his larks and brought me back a souvenir from the house of Pablo Neruda, which I assume to have been La Sebastiana . The poster is a modest line drawing of a bird in the process of unfurling itself and underneath there is a quote that reads: Mi deber es vivir, morir, vivir ... (My duty, to live, to die, to live ...). I forgot the exact amount of posters he brought back to the Stateses it the alluring illusion of plump juiciness -- they are meant to clue visitors in on a particular food that was a favorite of mine, years ago, specifically 1999-2001, when I was more concerned with the weight of the food in the bag ( $ per lbs. of meat ), than health, taste, or consequence per se. Burgers are definitely not my favorite now, but a bedroom can only be characteristic of someone in the past, never someone in the present moment, which is the only state that interests me.
Returning to Ryan's apartment in Westwood, I remember that he was directing me towards the whereabouts of my gift, telling me to fetch it amongst his unpacked belongings, when I made the mistake of picking up the wrong poster. It was this error in judgment that effectively soured the reception of my gift proper. Attached to that mishap was an even more thorough feeling of embarassment, because in my vague goings-on, I might have thoughtlessly assumed that the posters were ALL mine; I believed myself to be the new owner of a SET of artifacts from South America. On the heels of such a bold misunderstanding, Ryan snatched the poster out of my hand and quickly pointed out which was which. His had a different design and motto, neither of which I dare mention, but I maintain its superiority over mine, since it was the first one I touched. Perhaps, he felt that the quote on my poster ( My duty, to live, to die, to live ... ) was more suited to my lifestyle or beliefs, and that's not a very bad guess, but I have to admit that lately I've been shirking this duty of dying, an occupation that I acquired around the age of fourteen.
I dislike the awkwardness that I feel when I'm being presented with a gift. This sensation is more than the normal discomfort of being thrown into a happy moment. I've deduced that it has nothing to do with physical revulsion; it is an assault on the intellect. I say that, during this transaction, there is a brief loss of self, a dip, followed by an uncomfortable gain. The process of receiving a gift causes someone's present being, their very existence, to swell up in size, large enough so that the walls will chafe it for an instant. The gift then proceeds to imbue the palms of the recipient with a feeling of excessive emptiness, which is only a feeling, bearing the gift in mind. The recipient is Malthus Encouraged to fill this sudden vacancy with symbolic expressions of gratitude Towards the giver, But none of this is Truly Deserved, the giver Because you unconsciously an imposition Committed Against the psyche of the recipient.
I do not give gifts precisely. I Tend to Forget Them Into the hands of Other People. None of the gifts I ever grant Give me the wonderful and Immediate satisfaction of Giving Them, Because I Can not know whether the gift will Actually Be Of Any Benefit. Of course, I'm talking about the peculiar gift of literature. Some People Are Known To Become disoriented When They're handed a book. However, I Should Imagine That my only friend Would Give Gifts That Are subject to Illicit brazen joy on the spot anbtlessly occur in increments all the while that they're away from each other. In this case, Ryan was aided by the seemingly permanent words in my Livejournal, which then grafted onto his memory, his memory of me. Oh, Livejournal, will you forever infringe upon real life?? It's easy to conclude that because I indulged in the activity of translating and writing about Neruda, because I expressed my admiration for him those years ago in a public post, I should be fascinated by all things Neruda from that day forward, for the rest of my life. Ryan, the thoughtful traveller, remembers my post by the simplest association and sees fit to flesh out my supposed fascination. The square peg in its place, somewhat in reverse, an interest clothed in merchandise. What can be more appropRIAT? I know it's hard to imagine, But Ryan is in Chile. Thrust Into an alien environment, a man is Forced to start building. Bewildered by His new surroundings, I venture to Obtain pieces of it in order to create Useful material. This is the nature of the gift. Upon viewing the gift-object, Ryan is infected by the germ of caprice That will Engender Usually the builder of a happy moment
(gift-giving). His mind conjures multiple images That blur in His mind for Sale less than a second. Stray faces, my face, poetry, the actual words of Neruda, a girl he'd like to dupe with Paul's verve, LJ; These fragments serve to blur the color.
So, Ryan Sees the poster showcased with the rest. A decision is borne of the confusion, the blur of thC doppelgänger. This herald is powered by the ecstatic Exclusively will of the giver. At the receipt, the herald Either I implodes or is re-absorbed by the recipient with slight discomfiture. For someone as perceptive as me, this feeling is magnified.
The Herald is a complete stranger to my self, HAVING Been Born In Another's mind, But Many bears have identifiable features inarguably That Are my own, pero far removed. In order for a gentle reader to feel my anxiety at receiving a gift, one must-Conceive of the anxiety of Being Introduced to someone new with the Catch That this someone new you
también
, and That this someone new también yours. The moment is vibrant with expectation, Recognition, Assimilation,etc. Please keep in mind a gift That is supposed to arouse a reaction and the Un Certain failure to evoke a fair Amount of gratitude Can Be misread as an insult. Did Ryan ever stop to think about how my jaw drop Would? The nemesis of a gift is disappointment and the Subsequent tragedy is similar to the embarrassment of a typo. I Believe That perfect gift is the One That surprises Both the giver and the recipient, so the Latter Does not feel like I've fallen Into a system of Favors. The perfect gift Should concentrate on pleasing the intellect, INSTEAD of the Senses, pleasing Because the Senses is commonplace and barbarous. I have to say, in all truth, That the poster / book Ryan Gave Me Was the unexpected best gift I've ever received, But I suppose What made it great That WAS m
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