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Hi! My name is sajib. I'm 18 year old and go to college. I'm a regular guy who has set goals in life. But sometimes i feel very depressed and lonely. I feel the need of someone beside me. Someome whos' caring and will love me as a friend. I don't have a girlfriend and I'm desperate for one. If I don't get one maybe I'll stay single all my life and if it's supposed to be like this then I'll let it stay that way. I'll be more than happy if any of you girls leave me a suggestion.

Hi every one on June 14th my daughter gave birth to a beautifull baby girl whooooooooo hoooooooooooo !! have a great day !!:)

not a thought, not a concept or an idea. Not even a mild conjecture on the state of the world, just a vast echoing nothing that sits in the center of my living room twiddling its thumbs and singing if I am nothing why is there an I around? And there's the problem. Descartes says "I think, therefore I am" so if I do not think does that erase me altogether? Do I vanish and leave nothing in the world for all those thoughtless moments? Does the world vanish leaving me suspended in some alternate reality that is nothing and thus not real?And how do I know I think? Is the voice in my head my thoughts? My mother says she thinks in ticker tapes of words streaming from a typewriter; I hear voices, see pictures, smell scents or see jags of lightening stutter through the blackness of my sleep but I am not at all sure I think. So I am not sure I exist. I am, in fact, sure of nothing. So nothing exists and in the sheer weight of its existence creates the Universe.


A friend suggested the other day that I could write about anything and make it interesting. I chose, instead, to write of nothing. I sit zazen and once as the group chanted, each of us reading phonetic Japanese we did not understand in a monotone, all the voices wove together into a wordless chord of harmony that resonated with such beauty that I knew for once that I was part of something so far removed from the boundary of my skin that all I thought important was just echoes of nothing important. Nothing is important. Three words that say so little and so much.

I often wonder, if there is anything like ideal match when it comes to choosing a partner.I must be factual,this trend is common among women,ain't just saying cos i'm a guy,i read many profiles of men and women on this site,don't get me wrong,there is absolutely nothing wrong in looking for ideal man,i noticed men are less demanding..
This is an example of a lady's ideal match that i came across!My i deal match must be tall,good looking,has a steady job,must be funny,romantic,must love kids,financially secured and be ready to settle down.

Imagine that,it's gonna be difficult for this lady to get her ideal man.Sometimes women push men to act what they are not!

Every women wants to meets her her ideal man,but at the end,they get a real man.Why,cos every man gat his own unique personalty.I deal partner is only in one's imagination..

Friday morning I was woken up by my phone ringing non-stop. I looked at the clock and said to myself, "it is seven AM anyone that knows me well, knows I will still be sleeping and not get up to answer the phone." It continued to ring. I don't have an answering machine. Nothing against them, this is just my private life and I do not care to be bothered by messages. That is another blog though.
After I decided the phone was not going to stop ringing, I got up and crossed the room to pick up the receiver. I said to the caller, "This better be good..." I was sure it was a call for my niece. Her friends sometimes will call at strange hours with some lame 'teenage emergency' like some guy did not call them. I was ready to tell this caller where to shove it. I was not awake enough to wonder why no one else had gotten the phone.
"No, it is not good...Chuck, Mom is gone." It was my sister Karen. She and I are roommates, and I thought she was in her room asleep. As my mind cleared, I tried to make sense of who I was talking to and what she just said.
My mother had been in the hospital for about a week. Nothing new to her, she was in the hospital every other month, hurt from a fall, or some other malady. Her latest hospital visit was caused because she became incoherant, and could not breath.
I was under the impression Mom was getting better. Now my sister is calling me from the hospital telling me she was dead? This must be a dream... it was not a dream. My mother had some complications due to ulcers in her intestines, that caused her bowels and digestive system to stop working. She died in her sleep at 66.
I had not been very close with my mother. Up until the last few months, I had not spoken to her at all. I had moved away ten years ago, and until I was sure I was dying from cancer, I had not contacted my family. Again, another story. I talked with my mother in letters and on the phone, and decided I should come back to Arkansas to see her for what may be the last time.
We tried to get along. We had good days and bad days, but in the last three months we were able to at least bridge the gap between us, even if we could not mend it completely. Now she is gone.
As I stood there in the hospital, and looked down at her lifeless body, I tried to convince myself I could see her breathing. Although I knew she had passed. In fact, it was a good hour since her passing before I knew or could get there. There was no doubt about it. I finally went and sat down in a chair in the room. She was gone, there was nothing I could do.
I have only one regret. One real regret... I did not get a chance to tell her goodbye.I was glad she was no longer in pain. I was glad she had made peace with the Lord, and was sure she was going to heaven. I was glad to know her long years of suffering had finally came to an end. She was at peace, even if I did not share her religious believes. She was at peace.
Part of me wanted to cry, part of me wanted to scream. I had issues. Mostly, I was angry, and I did not know why. I do know now. I have thought about it all I care to think about it. I was upset that I did not get to say good bye. I needed to do that for closure I told myself.
I have been angry for three days. Then I realized, I would not want to say goodbye. I am sure that if she had been alive when I got there, I would have never uttered the words to her. I know that even if I knew in my heart, she would be dead within the hour, I would have not said the words. We always keep that glimmer of hope, that will not let us let go. Goodbye is assumed. Much like thank you is seen more in a smile than the words, goodbye is more in the heart. We all must say it in our hearts. The words themselves mean nothing. I have said my goodbye.It will take a while to let go... but at least I am no longer angry.

Yesterday, I was having a deeply philosophical discussion with another cab driver I know about two women who flagged me down at Hunter and Wellington.

I guess I made a remark about the ladies that was, uhm, ungenerous when the other guy said, "Well, what did you expect if you picked them up at Hunter and Wellington?"

Then we both laughed. Who, but a couple of cab drivers, would draw such conclusions about people based upon where we picked them up? OK, maybe cops. I remember the NYPD Blue Sipowitz character explaining something to his son about police work. All he said was, "People, places, the things they do, the times they do 'em."

Man, I love this city.

I was in line at the beer store yesterday (surprise!) when the girl at the register suddenly went running after some bum who tried to steal a two-four. She rescued the valuable product and continued her work.

When I got back to the car I noticed a grubby looking cyclist (lot's of those in my neighbourhood) covered in scabs and tattoos having a debate about the matter with another customer. I only caught a brief snippet where the scab guy said the beer store had insurance.

When I got back in the car my son, who had been listening to the debate, started to chuckle. He told me the scab/tattoo guy was defending the bum's actions on the grounds that the bum was only doing "what he had to do to survive."

Does this kind of thing only happen here in good ol' Hamtown? Man, sometimes I love this city!

“I have never had any one I could count on, no one to fight my tigers or ever really care.
No one who would stand by me, pick me up when I fell. I have been alone inside my prison for so very long.” She said as she looked down at her hands. With that she rose from her chair and looked out the window. He watched her as she stared past the glass into the bright sky outside.

She was too beautiful to look at for any length of time. Long blond hair, sad green eyes and a body only men dreamed about. Yet she had no clue of the beauty she possessed.

With a sigh he spoke for the first time. “This is a prison of your own making Grace. You are the prisoner and guard to your own life. If you do not go out side the walls you have built, you will never live. If you stay in your prison you will wilt and die.”

Long ago she had felt love and lost it in one fleeting moment. Desperately she had searched for it in all the wrong places. Her friends had told her that when she stopped looking it would find her. So she stopped and nothing happened. So brick by brick she built the walls that guarded her heart. Her world was filled with dark clouds and rain. She longed to leave all the rainy days behind and walk in the sunshine again. But to do so she would have to open her heart and she was afraid. Her world had been dark for so long and in that darkness she had learned to find comfort.

“What are you afraid of Grace?” he asked her. Ever so softly she whispered “Myself”. With that the man walked to the door. He looked back at the wasted beauty that stood before him. He remembered a woman that once was so full of light that people flocked to be near her. To feel the golden rays that illuminated from her. Now there was only darkness. He almost wished his brother had never met her. For if she had chosen him to be her only true love, she would be happy again. But when his brother died he took Graces heart to the grave with him. Sadly he opened the door and walked out into the night.

A month passed and each day she grew weaker. She knew she would have to venture out into the world of the living or she would parish. With the last fibers of her strength she threw open the door to her self made prison and stepped into the darkness. She felt the chill of the night on her skin and dampness in the air. The moon glowed and illuminated the night. The stars beckoned her to follow their glittering path. She sat on large boulder by a lake that was dark and deep and waited for the sun to rise.

The darkness soon gave way to gray skies and the sounds of the forest around began to come alive. The sun rose from its hiding giving birth to a new day. Grace felt the sun’s warmth on her skin and she took comfort from it. With her new found energy she gathered her cloak around her and walked into the village.

The old women of the village were busy gathering water from the well and did not notice her at first. A small child tugged at her mother’s apron and asked who this woman was. All eyes turned to gaze at the beautiful cloaked woman. Several gasped and shied away except for one. She took a cup of water from the well and offered it to the woman. Grace drank deeply of the sweet water and handed the cup back. Laying her hand on the old woman’s shoulder she thanked her. The old woman walked ahead of her to the manner and banged on the door. “Welcome home my lady” was all she said as she stepped aside. Grace turned around and found the villagers had gathered in the street behind her.

She looked at their faces and saw kindness, wonder and even a few tears. She lowered her cloak and looked up to the sun and gave thanks to being allowed to find her way home. Where love surrounded her and enfolded her in its warmth. She smiled at the many faces that gazed at her and she began to glow. Her skin radiated like the sun and her voice was like music to the many surrounding her. “I am home to stay,” she said.

I just wanna invite people like you to be a worshiper.
Jesus is loyal, trustful and powerful. All that I know is that He wants the best for You and for me.

I don't, of course, but someone that I cherish used the phrase and I am stealing it, the perfect jumping off point for today.When I met my sister-in-law for the first time she spoke to me very slowly and explained what radishes were. I blinked wide brown eyes at her, pointed to my glass of water and said 'and what is this,please?'I am not always kind; but I did bite my tongue when she proudly told me her six year old son had just started to take lessons to read. At two years old I had my own bookcase, a chair and a feather duster. Each day I would take down a book - the Noddy books by Enid Blyton - and dust it and my chair and sit to read. The worst punishment my mother could inflict was to say "no reading". I have no idea why I was fixated on dusting things first, I got over it - although I still browse by feather dusters and their like in hardware stores.
We make assumptions all the time and circumscribe our world so easily. Someone from the Caribbean could not possibly know what a radish is, and despite her english accent may not understand the spoken word so let's speak slowly. All the ways we shut ourselves down! My cousin married someone from Venezuela and because his English was sketchy would repeat to him every word we spoke... in English still but very loudly! I myself am not immune and have been heard to mutter 'but it's not rocket science!' This rough jumping to conclusions and unwillingness to listen slowly with all care leads us into squabbles, bickering and wars. We fear and hate what we don't understand but either we never listen long enough to hear the complete answer or we change the question once an answer is given because instead of trying to hear another's opinion we are chasing our agenda and if the words you say don't fit by all the gods we will find a way to twist them! And, like sheep, we let this happen because to stand up and say NO! means we might find ourselves alone.