<?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-9516507</id><updated>2011-11-10T18:10:19.676-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>47</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-8879779139550454639</id><published>2009-03-30T11:18:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T11:19:44.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love v. Lust</title><content type='html'>"When you break  up if you miss the company it was love, if you miss the sex it was lust."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-8879779139550454639?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/8879779139550454639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=8879779139550454639&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/8879779139550454639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/8879779139550454639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2009/03/love-v-lust.html' title='Love v. Lust'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-201320503355108405</id><published>2008-04-03T16:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-03T16:39:13.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>"Love is not a feeling.  It is an ability."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any thoughts?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-201320503355108405?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/201320503355108405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=201320503355108405&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/201320503355108405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/201320503355108405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2008/04/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-2498250658297125147</id><published>2008-04-02T00:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T00:15:20.033-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hafez</title><content type='html'>"Even after all these time sun does not tell moon you owe me."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-2498250658297125147?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/2498250658297125147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=2498250658297125147&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/2498250658297125147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/2498250658297125147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2008/04/hafez.html' title='Hafez'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-6859276354518112520</id><published>2008-02-09T00:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T00:43:30.913-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Three months rule</title><content type='html'>It takes about three months for people to start showing themselves. It takes about three months on avarage to see people's pattern.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-6859276354518112520?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/6859276354518112520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=6859276354518112520&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6859276354518112520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6859276354518112520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2008/02/three-months-rule.html' title='Three months rule'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-8381419555656783753</id><published>2007-11-18T01:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T01:29:00.625-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She said.</title><content type='html'>"We broke up last night and all I had to do was to throw his toothbrush in the garbage." She said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-8381419555656783753?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/8381419555656783753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=8381419555656783753&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/8381419555656783753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/8381419555656783753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/11/she-said.html' title='She said.'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-7869158334794866999</id><published>2007-09-29T10:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-05T09:52:09.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Twin Sisters</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I ran into a twin sister who had just celebrated their 86 birthday.  They were dressed alike. Both were wearing navy blue pants, white shirt and red scarves. Their blond hair were meticulously styled.  One of the sister appeared to have more disappointment in her life as she had more wrinkles around her mouth and the sides of her lips were shaped downwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They reminded me of my sister and I. One day if we are lucky enough to live that long, we also will loss all of our youth and beauty and will have wrinkles all over our face.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I probably will be the one with more wrinkles because I have had many heartbreaks in my life.  But despite that I take it easy and I have been desensitized to disappointments now.  I believe that anything is possible and nothing, absolutely nothing, surprises me any more. So maybe my sister would have more wrinkles as she stress about every little thing in life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would be one advise that you guys can give me? I asked the twins.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;The one who seemed more disappointed in life said, “ Don’t take life so seriously.”&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy. It is over before you know it. Said the other twin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-7869158334794866999?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/7869158334794866999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=7869158334794866999&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/7869158334794866999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/7869158334794866999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/09/twin-sisters.html' title='Twin Sisters'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-7916299654127352079</id><published>2007-07-26T22:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-26T22:20:39.761-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feelings</title><content type='html'>It is amazingly sad that as you grow older you become more and more cautious not only with your feelings but even with expressing them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-7916299654127352079?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/7916299654127352079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=7916299654127352079&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/7916299654127352079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/7916299654127352079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/07/feelings.html' title='Feelings'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-1715313976702877340</id><published>2007-02-12T22:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T00:19:40.721-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Innocence</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So how does one losses its innocent? Is it at certain age? Is it when you lose your virginity? Is it when you start lying to others? Is it when your heart is shattered to pieces? Is it when you are in the society and you have to become a wolf just to survive? Is it when you lose something so dear to you?&lt;br /&gt;So when is it? How is it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-1715313976702877340?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/1715313976702877340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=1715313976702877340&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/1715313976702877340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/1715313976702877340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/02/innocent.html' title='Innocence'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-6830780434025885178</id><published>2007-02-05T23:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-05T23:13:52.826-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Did you know?</title><content type='html'>Did You Know That.….?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's physically impossible for you to lick your elbow.&lt;br /&gt;A snail can sleep for three years.&lt;br /&gt;On average people fear spiders more than they do death.&lt;br /&gt;Pearls melt in vinegar.&lt;br /&gt;You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television.American Airlines saved $40,000 in 1987 by eliminating 1 olive from each salad served in first-class.&lt;br /&gt;The first owner of the Marlboro Company died of lung cancer.&lt;br /&gt;Marilyn Monroe had six toes.&lt;br /&gt;All US Presidents have worn glasses. Some just didn't like being seen wearing them in public.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-6830780434025885178?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/6830780434025885178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=6830780434025885178&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6830780434025885178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6830780434025885178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/02/did-you-know.html' title='Did you know?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-6226468895565182415</id><published>2007-01-01T23:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-01T23:19:36.254-08:00</updated><title type='text'>2007 in New York</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I always wanted to spend a new year in New York and here I am. It's beautiful and gray with all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Christmas&lt;/span&gt; lights on.&lt;br /&gt;I was so touched by number of phone calls that I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;received&lt;/span&gt; to wish me a happy new year in New York time and not California time. I had tears in my eyes. It's a blessing to be loved by others. I was happy that I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;surrounded&lt;/span&gt; by good loving people around me.&lt;br /&gt;I love you all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-6226468895565182415?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/6226468895565182415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=6226468895565182415&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6226468895565182415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6226468895565182415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/01/2007-in-new-york.html' title='2007 in New York'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-6873798809258712393</id><published>2007-01-01T22:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-01T23:17:36.038-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the plane to New York</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;On the way to New York I was sitting next to a middle age gentleman in the airplane. The flight was at 10:45 at night. I was getting myself ready to take a nap as the plane was taking off. I took my glasses off, wrapped a blanket around me and closed my eyes. I felt an uncomfortable energy from the man who was sitting next to me. I opened my right eye and looked at him from corner of my eye without moving. He was about mid fifties, tall, blue eyes, small nose, white hair and pale face. He was squeezing his face so hard that could see every little wrinkle around his left eye. His eyes were closed with his feast rapped around his legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;? I asked.&lt;br /&gt;He grabbed my hands and said something really quickly that I did not understand before I even finished my question. He was afraid of flying.&lt;br /&gt;He has a son and a daughter who is a student at Santa Cruz University. His wife left him 2 years ago after 25 years of marriage for another lesbian.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-6873798809258712393?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/6873798809258712393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=6873798809258712393&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6873798809258712393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6873798809258712393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2007/01/on-plane-to-new-york.html' title='On the plane to New York'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-2116631748628471548</id><published>2006-12-25T23:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-26T00:00:29.573-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sadness</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I don’t think I am sad per se. But I am not as happy as last year or a year before. Maybe I have matured. Maybe I am more me. Maybe I am more comfortable. May be I have no mask in front of good friends any more. Or maybe I am sad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-2116631748628471548?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/2116631748628471548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=2116631748628471548&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/2116631748628471548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/2116631748628471548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/12/sadness.html' title='Sadness'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-1070534831049929728</id><published>2006-12-25T01:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-25T01:10:32.765-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Once upon a time</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Have you noticed that different people bring different side of you out. Some people bring the best and some bring the worst out of you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time I had this lover who brought the best out of me. With him I was wonderful, relax, spiritual, motivated, deep, healthy, energetic, thin and happy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And once upon a time I had this boyfriend who brought the worst out of me. I was insecure, angry and jealous. Sometimes I would get so angry that I thought I will have a heartattack. I believed that I had temper issues. I started seeing a therapist so I can get my anger under control. Ironically, not too many people have seen me angry because I never get angry. But with him I would go to the roof. Recently I read that lack of trust in relationship brings, insecurity, anger and jealousy. So maybe it was all due to lack of trust. Perhaps.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-1070534831049929728?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/1070534831049929728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=1070534831049929728&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/1070534831049929728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/1070534831049929728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/12/once-upon-time.html' title='Once upon a time'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-6586050639259529122</id><published>2006-12-17T23:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-17T23:58:15.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Over the years</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I saw an old lover this weekend. Over the last few year, he has grown, became kinder and calmer. We spend the whole night, eating, drinking red wine, talking, looking at the read fire and listing to great music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People come and go in your life, but there are very few who remain in your life over the years. Every birthday I compare the people that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;surround&lt;/span&gt; me or call me. This year I got a lot of calls from my friends. On my actual birthday I saw some random people that I had not seen for a long time. I spend the night of my B-day with the last people on earth that I thought I would spend my birthday with. And interestingly the very few people that I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;taught&lt;/span&gt; I would see were not there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;People come and go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-6586050639259529122?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/6586050639259529122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=6586050639259529122&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6586050639259529122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/6586050639259529122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/12/over-years.html' title='Over the years'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-116491686175570559</id><published>2006-11-30T12:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T00:00:12.242-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Response</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;People who are religious have it very easy because god and any thing related to god is all based on faith. They don’t ask any questions. They are just followers and that’s called faith. On the other hand, the thinkers would have a hard time. The thinkers are also more responsible as they accept responsibilities for their lives. But again we are so powerless. Imagine a bee entering your noise. That could potentially kill you. So how much control do you have over your life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So maybe god is part of us or maybe we are god to some extend. And scientifically that is the power of your mind. You can have anything you want if you specifically ask for it. But how do you know what’s good for you? In fact there is a movie where this guy has the power to go back in time and create his life the way he wanted from birth or childhood, but every time something else went wrong. Anyone has seen that movie?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-116491686175570559?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/116491686175570559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=116491686175570559&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116491686175570559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116491686175570559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/11/response-to-bijan.html' title='Response'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-116484715400332883</id><published>2006-11-29T16:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-29T16:39:14.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Strange Dream</title><content type='html'>I do miss him.&lt;br /&gt;I told him that we should not talk as frequently for a while.&lt;br /&gt;But, I just spoke to him.&lt;br /&gt;He said that he had a strange dream last night.&lt;br /&gt;He dreamt that he got up in the morning and went to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;He shook his head but the reflection in the mirror was not moving.&lt;br /&gt;He got scared.&lt;br /&gt;He came out of the bathroom and saw his only sister.&lt;br /&gt;She said; “You found out, uh?!! We couldn’t tell you that you’ll die in 8 minutes."&lt;br /&gt;He went back to the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;Looked at his reflection in the mirror again.&lt;br /&gt;Shook his head back and forth,&lt;br /&gt;but the reflection was not moving.&lt;br /&gt;He was dead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-116484715400332883?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/116484715400332883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=116484715400332883&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116484715400332883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116484715400332883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/11/strange-dream.html' title='Strange Dream'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-116405822627631249</id><published>2006-11-20T13:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-20T13:35:03.366-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Soul</title><content type='html'>Everytime you break up with someone and end a relationship, part of your soul is gone.&lt;br /&gt;Uhh. How accurate is this statement?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-116405822627631249?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/116405822627631249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=116405822627631249&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116405822627631249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116405822627631249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/11/soul.html' title='Soul'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-116311469502785626</id><published>2006-11-09T15:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-25T01:54:04.509-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wou</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Wouuu&lt;/span&gt;. I have not been here for a long time. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Alot&lt;/span&gt; has happened in the last 5 months:&lt;br /&gt;I broke up with my boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;My sister got married.&lt;br /&gt;I revisited with my aunts after 6 years.&lt;br /&gt;I saw my cousin who is now 18 years old for the third time in my life.&lt;br /&gt;I traveled to France for the third time. So far I have been to 14 countries and many cities.&lt;br /&gt;I traveled to Iran and saw my father after two years. He no longer smokes cigarettes.&lt;br /&gt;I bought a house and I recently finished unpacking.&lt;br /&gt;I got a new car last week.&lt;br /&gt;I got a letter from mayor of SF which was very exciting.&lt;br /&gt;I lost 7 pounds.&lt;br /&gt;I have gone to six weddings and I am going to one more this weekend;)&lt;br /&gt;A good friend of mine moved away.&lt;br /&gt;A good friend of mine broke up at their one year marriage anniversary just recently,&lt;br /&gt;And two of my cousins graduated from universities.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-116311469502785626?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/116311469502785626/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=116311469502785626&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116311469502785626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/116311469502785626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/11/wou.html' title='Wou'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-114997126220375920</id><published>2006-06-10T13:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-10T13:29:28.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Money</title><content type='html'>Uhh, that's much better. The color of my blog I mean. Back to the basic. It has more character.&lt;br /&gt;It's so funny you hang out with millionaires or now days billioners and you think; dam I am so behind financially. You hang out with average people and you don't think about it. Why is money so important to some people? May be I should care more. What's real? Is money that important? I can not tolerate stingy people. They say stingy in money stingy in heart. I think it's true to some respect. Don't you?&lt;br /&gt;Once I die, I have one house but I have enjoyed my life. Or I die and I have ten houses and all I did was fucking work and worry not to spend to much money on coffee!!!&lt;br /&gt;But I love coffee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-114997126220375920?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/114997126220375920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=114997126220375920&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/114997126220375920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/114997126220375920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/06/money.html' title='Money'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-114911852191716833</id><published>2006-05-31T16:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-05-31T16:36:59.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Purpose</title><content type='html'>I have not been here for a while. I have been writing, but not publishing it. I just saw my blogg with the new green color. I do not like it. When I changed it from black to green I liked it at the beginning, but now it looks a bit fake!!! Maybe I am bipolar. I am not happy at all today. I just have a hard time finding a purpose for my life. What's the point? What is the purpose of my life or your life? There is really no point to be alive. We are born at point A and inevitably we all going to die at Point B.&lt;br /&gt;Assuming that an average person will live 70 years, I do not know how am I going to live another 40 years here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-114911852191716833?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/114911852191716833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=114911852191716833&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/114911852191716833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/114911852191716833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/05/life-purpose.html' title='Life Purpose'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-113839228722816859</id><published>2006-01-27T12:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-27T12:05:47.010-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I T L I</title><content type='html'>I am looking forward to the rest of my life.&lt;br /&gt;The unknown is exciting.&lt;br /&gt;Life is really like a journey and I have to make the best of it.&lt;br /&gt;I got up this morning and I realized that I am a very happy sole.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-113839228722816859?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/113839228722816859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=113839228722816859&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113839228722816859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113839228722816859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2006/01/i-t-l-i.html' title='I T L I'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-113528503512758951</id><published>2005-12-22T12:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T11:36:35.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Faith v. Choice</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've learned not to stress over thing in life. Whatever needs to happen, will happen. Sometimes I think and rethink and think and analyze an issue over and over again. The more I think about it, the more confuse I get. So maybe I just have to let things go and see what life has in box for me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a time that I use to plan things, but that does not work in reality. One move, one word, one person, one action and it will change everything. I've realized that I do not have control over things. My cousin said that's where faith comes in. But if you believe in faith that means you are willingly giving up your options and choices in life. I've always said life is about choices. But is it really? There are so many external influences in our lives that choice plays a part and faith plays the other. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-113528503512758951?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/113528503512758951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=113528503512758951&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113528503512758951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113528503512758951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/12/faith-v-choice.html' title='Faith v. Choice'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-113425117316785858</id><published>2005-12-10T13:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-10T15:34:06.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Favorite Animal</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was flipping through the INC. Magazine and I stopped. I saw a beautiful picture of an orange-yellowish butterfly sitting on a blue daisy with a white background. For a moment it took me back to my childhood. Butterflies were my favorite. I even had a green butterfly necklace which I loved. I always had it on. One morning I woke up while on a trip to Isfahan and my beautiful butterfly was no longer around my neck. To me butterflies were the most beautiful, sensitive and free species that I knew. If I had to be anything I would have been a butterfly. They fly all over the world. See everything, experience hot and cold and if they don't like it they just fly some where else. So calm and relaxed. Their skin is so soft and delicate that they can die with a poke of a fingertip. They are not even capable of hurting anybody. In the Persian poetry butterflies are always with flowers and whipping candles. They are small, but they have a big heart. And that was me as a little . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twenty some years later my favorite animal has become a black jaguar. Not even comparable. Jaguars. Not so pretty, not so delicate, no longer powerless and they won't die with a poke of a fingertip. Now, their poke can hurt a butterfly. They are dark, sleek, elegant, enigmatic and strong. They are patient and observant. Still calm, but nobody will F.  with them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Eventhough, I'm a jaguar, I still have the green butterfly inside.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-113425117316785858?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/113425117316785858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=113425117316785858&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113425117316785858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113425117316785858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/12/favorite-animal.html' title='Favorite Animal'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-113095119720589837</id><published>2005-11-02T09:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-02T09:06:37.226-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>Life is very difficult. It really is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-113095119720589837?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/113095119720589837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=113095119720589837&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113095119720589837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/113095119720589837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/11/life.html' title='Life'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112499334394125274</id><published>2005-08-25T11:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-25T11:09:03.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Question</title><content type='html'>If you could have ask one question from god what would it be?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112499334394125274?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112499334394125274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112499334394125274&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112499334394125274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112499334394125274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/08/question.html' title='Question'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112491668102748753</id><published>2005-08-24T13:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T13:51:21.033-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mood</title><content type='html'>I am in such a crappy mood today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112491668102748753?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112491668102748753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112491668102748753&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112491668102748753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112491668102748753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/08/mood.html' title='Mood'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-112378747213870025</id><published>2005-08-11T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-11-21T15:27:07.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dr.'s Appointment</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was at the Dr.'s office yesterday to get my test result. I just went for the annual checkup, sugar, pressure, cholesterol,..., .&lt;br /&gt;Hi, I have an appointment at 3:45.&lt;br /&gt;-We'll the Dr. is in a surgery. Please have a sit.&lt;br /&gt;How long do you anticipate to take before the Dr. gets here?&lt;br /&gt;-Oh, about 30 Minutes.&lt;br /&gt;May I reschedule because I have to be somewhere. I asked.&lt;br /&gt;-Well, we have your lab results and the Dr. Needs to talk to you about it. There is a note on the folder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? What's wrong with me? I thought as I sat down in a cold Burgundy chair. For a minute my whole life came before me. What if the Dr. tells me that I only have another 10 or 8 years to live. What would I be doing differently? Where would I go? With whom would I spend most of my time?&lt;br /&gt;I felt that my heart was beating faster and my pressure was rising. I never realized how much I liked to be alive. I always thought that I would not care if I die today. So what has changed?&lt;br /&gt;I was pleased to realize that I would not be doing anything differently in my life. Except spending more time with my family. I am living my life day by day to its fullest just the way I want it.  "Live as if it is your last day alive and love as if you have never been heart before." Finally the Dr. Came and told me that everything is perfect!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What would you do differently if you only had another 10 years to live?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112378747213870025?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112378747213870025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112378747213870025&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112378747213870025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112378747213870025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/08/drs-appointment.html' title='Dr.&apos;s Appointment'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112361571530404263</id><published>2005-08-09T12:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-09T12:45:57.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ordinary Life?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There is this fire inside you. There is this fire inside everybody that if it is not attended by the age of mid-twenties, it will die. There is the notion of living an extraordinary life, not an ordinary life. There is the notion of experiencing life, every minute of it in any way possible. There is certain comfort and stability in an ordinary life, but there is excitement in an extraordinary life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you look around, you'll see that babies are born, they go to school, get a job, choice a partner, get married and have more babies. Life seems like a circle that everybody follows. But is that our nature or is it our society that tells us the way we live our lives? Marriage is like a circle. People who are in it want to be out of it and people who are out of it want to be in the circle. Ironically both groups are unhappy. Why is that? Is it because by nature humans are never satisfied? Is it because people want to complain no matter what they have? Is it because people take others for granted? Or is it because people simply don't know how to live their lives happily and be content with what they have?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You choose a path to either be part of this nature-society life style or not. If you choose the path that most people do, then you got to find a partner, be committed and get married. But if you don't chose that path, then there is a chance that you won't be married, never have a family and won't have the emotional intimacy and stability in your life. The most difficult part is that after certain age it becomes harder and harder to stop, turn around and change your path to an "ordinary life." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So what do you do? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112361571530404263?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112361571530404263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112361571530404263&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112361571530404263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112361571530404263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/08/ordinary-life.html' title='Ordinary Life?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112302908114967496</id><published>2005-08-02T17:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T17:31:21.156-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiness</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Most people think that it takes a lot of different things, specifically money to be happy. But that's where they are wrong. Happiness is within you. You can have everything in the world and still not be happy. The recent research indicated that what brings happiness to people is love, good companionship and circle of good friends. I recently watched a Japanese movie called, after life. The concept was very interesting where number of people were dead and they were in an interim stage. The dead people had to pick a memory from their life time and the remaining memories would be erased. There was a seventy two years old guy who could not come up with any memory. So they gave him seventy two tapes, each representing a year of his life and asked him to watch it. It seemed that he had a very ordinary life, married and going to work everyday. The memory that he wanted to keep was about a night that he went to see a movie with his wife!! Interestingly, most people's memories involved someone else such as when they were in love or when they shared something with someone,... . I mean, think about it, what memory would you pick and why? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112302908114967496?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112302908114967496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112302908114967496&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112302908114967496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112302908114967496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/08/happiness.html' title='Happiness'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112250021715555513</id><published>2005-07-27T14:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-29T11:07:17.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I always thought that there are two ways to deal with any situations or people; either accept it or leave it. But a friend of mine said, "or you can compromise a little. Bring it up or down a level to match each other." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As we grow older we learn that we should not or need not to compromise any more. We get so comfortable in our comfort zone that any change will shatter it. It's the fear of unknown and lack of courage to take risks. But that is the beauty of life. The unknown. Don't you think?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112250021715555513?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112250021715555513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112250021715555513&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112250021715555513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112250021715555513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-always-thought-that-there-are-two.html' title=''/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-112001396153002676</id><published>2005-06-28T19:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T14:30:14.403-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Anger</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Anybody can get angry. But, being angry at the right time, for a right reason with the right person is hard. I have learned to watch my emotions. Meaning actually think about what I feel as I feel it. Getting to the roots of my emotions are not easy. Sometimes I have to go back many years. When you learn to watch your emotions objectively, you are not defensive anymore. You learn that alot of your responses are merely a reaction. It's your choice how to react to any situation. There is serenity and calmness in watching your emotions objectively. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-112001396153002676?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/112001396153002676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=112001396153002676&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112001396153002676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/112001396153002676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/06/anger.html' title='Anger'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-111585413879441980</id><published>2005-05-11T16:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T16:28:58.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First class</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I had lunch with a friend of mine who is also an attorney. We always talk about everything and nothing.&lt;br /&gt;-Life could be very mundane if you just repeat the same things over and over again. I have a short attention span. So what? We work, work, work and then what. I wish I knew what I wanted. I said.&lt;br /&gt;- Well, why don't you add some passion? I don't mean it that way. I mean doing something that you are passionate about.&lt;br /&gt;_ Yahh. I brought this Daff, an Iranian music instrument, from Iran. I have been playing with it. I am actually looking for a teacher.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I came back to my office and through one phone call I was able to get a hold of Ostad(teacher) Zolfonon who is a well known Iranian musician. My first session is tonight at 7:30. I am actually excited about it. Sometimes it does not take much time or effort to start something that you like. The key is WANTING to do it. Realizing that you really want to do it and then the rest will follow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-111585413879441980?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/111585413879441980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=111585413879441980&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111585413879441980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111585413879441980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/05/first-class.html' title='First class'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-111585321335694147</id><published>2005-05-11T16:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T16:13:33.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Last year</title><content type='html'>I found this on my computer dated last year 2/04!!!  with a painting that I can't cut and paste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is . Life is.&lt;br /&gt;We are who we are.&lt;br /&gt;Why not?&lt;br /&gt;Significant of nothingness.&lt;br /&gt;The unknown makes it exciting.&lt;br /&gt;Feb/04&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-111585321335694147?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/111585321335694147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=111585321335694147&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111585321335694147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111585321335694147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/05/last-year.html' title='Last year'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-111264252220441560</id><published>2005-04-04T11:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T12:22:02.206-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Discriminating Experiences</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've always had the urgency to live my life to the fullest. That meant that I had to experience almost everything once, I had to be at many places, parties and gathering as much as I could. I could not sit still and relax. I constantly had to do something.  I have not change much. If I'm sitting at a cafe by myself, I have to read a book or a newspaper because I just can't sit still. I consider myself very lucky to realize how precious life is at the early age. I try to travel and go to a new country once a year. 2003 was Thailand. At the end of 2004 I went to Iran, India and Paris. I came back January 20, 2005 to San Francisco. The very next day I went to Lake Tahoe and since then I've gone to Tahoe twice more and last week I went to Dallas, Texas. I constantly have to do something. When I travel, I almost lose contact with everybody. I do not repeat my routine life such as eating the same food, wearing a watch,.... It helps me to gain a new perspective.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, as I was sitting and reading my book at home , I realized that I have not change much since I came back from India, except that I have become more selective in my experiences. I discriminate or reject experiences that are not good for me. I think discrimination marks the truly passionate. In my case it could be a sign of truly living my life and perhaps becoming more mature.&lt;br /&gt;As Irish poet William Butler Yearts described gathering carefully chosen experiences " as if for a collector's cabinet." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-111264252220441560?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/111264252220441560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=111264252220441560&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111264252220441560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111264252220441560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/04/discriminating-experiences.html' title='Discriminating Experiences'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-111117570237662568</id><published>2005-03-18T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-04-04T12:39:50.063-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Break Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So, I have been seeing this wonderful gentleman for a very short period of time. He is one of the very few qualified man that I've met in the last year or so. He passes all the check list so to speak; honest, loyal, good family, educated, Iranian, five years older then me, truly a gentleman, generous, caring, loving, established ... a nice guy. Few weeks ago we went to dinner and I had all the intention to end things. He picked me up from my office on Thursday night sharp at seven p.m. As we got into the elevator, he was looking at me with so much love. Love just emanated from every cell of his body. I looked at him and taught, maybe I should give it a shot and wait. Maybe I should give the chance to myself and see how it will turn out. So we had dinner and I gave my speech that I like thing to go very slowly,... .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, the problem is lack of physical attraction. I have been going back and forth in my mind to determine how important the initial attraction is. He has such a good personality that I could see myself falling in love with him. He initially asked me out last year and I said no. Over the period of one year, I saw him at the parties and few months ago I asked myself why did I say no to him? He seems like a very nice guy. Interestingly enough, he asked me out again this year and I accept it. His intention is to get married. I feel suffocated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I trying to sabotage my relationship with him? Or is it simply the lack of initial spark?&lt;br /&gt;I feel that I am not ready to settle down. Maybe because he is the wrong person for me? How important is the initial attraction and spark? Some say it will grow, but I highly doubt it. So in the last two weeks I have been struggling with the idea of putting an end to it or just as he recommended, jump in it. What a scary taught.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally I made my decision, I have to end it before it gets out of hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had dinner with him and I told him that I am not there yet. I am not ready for a relationship. After a long conversation he said, I do not understand what that means to be ready. There is no such a thing as I don't know. It seems that you are speaking Chinese to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, my personality is very free and let it unfold type of thing without any pressure. He is an engineer, he wants concrete answer, plans,.. . My only concern is what if I am never ready. Or what if I am ready when it's to late. Or is there such a thing as to late. To later for what? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was a bit sad last night. But this morning when I opened my eyes I felt light and free again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-111117570237662568?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/111117570237662568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=111117570237662568&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111117570237662568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111117570237662568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/03/break-up.html' title='Break Up'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-111108739471234993</id><published>2005-03-17T11:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-17T11:23:14.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Life</title><content type='html'>Life is not complicated. We just make it that way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-111108739471234993?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/111108739471234993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=111108739471234993&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111108739471234993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/111108739471234993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/03/life.html' title='Life'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110974714270822795</id><published>2005-03-01T23:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-01T23:05:42.706-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What?</title><content type='html'>What makes you happy in life?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110974714270822795?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110974714270822795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110974714270822795&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110974714270822795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110974714270822795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/03/what.html' title='What?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110861061757220797</id><published>2005-02-16T19:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-16T19:23:37.573-08:00</updated><title type='text'>As If</title><content type='html'>"Work as if you don't need the money.&lt;br /&gt;Love as if you've never been hurt.&lt;br /&gt;And dance as if no one is watching."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it really possible to love as if you've never been hurt without any residue?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110861061757220797?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110861061757220797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110861061757220797&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110861061757220797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110861061757220797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/02/as-if.html' title='As If'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-110843175990136902</id><published>2005-02-14T17:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-14T17:42:39.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'>RRA</title><content type='html'>It’s good to Recognize, Realize and Appreciate something that’s good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110843175990136902?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110843175990136902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110843175990136902&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110843175990136902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110843175990136902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/02/rra.html' title='RRA'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-110801963564138501</id><published>2005-02-09T23:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-09T23:13:55.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why an ordinary life?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Why the fuck everybody insist that I should have a more normal and ordinary life. They love me and they care for me, I know that. My aunt was talking to me last night that I should be open to marriage and I should start considering people around me. And that I will end up like my mother otherwise, ALONE. That she is 50 years old and that she eats alone, she lives alone, she is sick alone, she …ALONE.&lt;br /&gt;Yes I get it. I might end up being alone for the rest of my life. But does that mean that I have to give up the happiness that I have and as my aunt called it; Temporary happiness, and just start paying attention and start thinking about marriage so if live much longer I will have somebody to come home to?&lt;br /&gt;I can not even picture getting married at this point in my life. I feel that I am under so much pressure suddenly. My aunt said that at least my mother has some happiness in her life and that is my sister and I. I will not even have that because I do not have any children.&lt;br /&gt;That’s true, but why do I have to follow an ordinary life of growing up, going to school, getting married, having kids and then Die. So I have done part of my ordinary life, growing up, going to school. And now I should follow the rest. What I do not understand is that people who are married are not happy either. Most of them are miserable.&lt;br /&gt;We had a similar conversation with another group just few weeks ago when I was visiting Iran. I asked who do you know that is happily married? A lady raised her hand. She is in her mid thirties, beautiful, tall with light brown her. She got married ten years ago and now she has two children. Her husband is tall, very handsome with an excellent position in Iran. She raised her hand and said: “I am happy. I am happy that I got married and I am very happy with my husband.”&lt;br /&gt;Everybody nodded their head and said see, there are people who are happy in their marriage. I was shocked to see her raising her hand and making such strong statement, knowing that on the very same day she cut her husband cheating on her. On the very same day she confronted her husband’s lover and cried. I do not understand why people lie to themselves? Why can’t they be honest with themselves. Why do they like to live in denial? Is reality to harsh? Yes it is. But there is only two options; Accept it or Deny it. And it seems that most people are in denial. Will they ever wake up? Will they ever look within to see where the pain is?&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe I need to wake up?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110801963564138501?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110801963564138501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110801963564138501&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110801963564138501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110801963564138501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/02/why-ordinary-life_09.html' title='Why an ordinary life?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110790132578231686</id><published>2005-02-08T14:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-08T14:38:54.146-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Forgotten Feelings</title><content type='html'>"All of us want to feel something. We either have forgotten or we have turned our back to it. We need to remember what use to feel good. If we don’t, we won’t recognize it even if it hit us right between the eye."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110790132578231686?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110790132578231686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110790132578231686&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110790132578231686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110790132578231686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2005/02/forgotten-feelings.html' title='Forgotten Feelings'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-110322205908286112</id><published>2004-12-16T10:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-16T10:38:51.923-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's wrong with me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I have no right to do this to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's wrong with me. I wish I knew. He is a perfect guy. He is nice, sincere, educated, tall, intelligent, excellent communicator, caring, loving, thoughtful, reliable, wealthy, family oriented, sensitive and logical, etc... And yet what's wrong with me. It's not only him, there are more guys around, with the same qualifications, Yet what's wrong with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning he sat in front of me and even cried in my office. All he wants is any type of relationship, anything more than a friendship. " &lt;em&gt;I love you to death. I love every ounce of you,...It's ok with me if you are...I accept every bit of you..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else do I want?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat still and listened to him carefully and give him the usual excuse; it's not about you, It's about me. I'm focus on my work and trip, lablablab. Who buys that anymore? I think any indication of excuse means NO.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"It's very rare to have the connection that we have. There is such a connection, why are you pushing me away?"&lt;/em&gt; he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking,Connections?? Connection must be two ways. How does he think that WE have connected? Why is it that people are connected to me and I am not. What's wrong with me??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thinks that we should get married. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110322205908286112?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110322205908286112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110322205908286112&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110322205908286112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110322205908286112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/whats-wrong-with-me.html' title='What&apos;s wrong with me?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110290014384850592</id><published>2004-12-12T16:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-12T17:14:55.736-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery II</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;To what extend we shape our destiny still remains a mystery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are so insignificant in this world, yet ironically every little steps that we take, could change our whole life. Just like the "butter fly effect" not only our life, but every body else's life as well. Have you seen a movie call, sliding door? Same concept.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you really think that you have any control over your life? How many time have you planed something and one thing happened which changed the whole scenario. How many times have you left your house for a particular purpose and you met someone, you got a phone call or... Which changed everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets put aside our actions for now and go to a smaller scale, just words. Things we say on the daily basis will change lives. Some things as small as three words; I LOVE YOU, I HATE YOU, I CHEATED ON YOU, MOVE IN WITH ME, I'M SORRY, I'M LEAVING, MARRY ME, could change everything at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how much control do we really have over our lives? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110290014384850592?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110290014384850592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110290014384850592&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110290014384850592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110290014384850592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/mystery-ii.html' title='Mystery II'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110249491068706960</id><published>2004-12-08T01:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T00:35:10.686-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's about?</title><content type='html'>It's not about what I say&lt;br /&gt;It's not about what you say&lt;br /&gt;It's about what we don't say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110249491068706960?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110249491068706960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110249491068706960&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249491068706960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249491068706960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/whats-about.html' title='What&apos;s about?'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9516507.post-110249481340009612</id><published>2004-12-08T01:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T00:33:33.400-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Refrigerator 2</title><content type='html'>Tomorrow life is a delirious dream&lt;br /&gt;when moon have shadows&lt;br /&gt;of peach garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As drunk man is reading&lt;br /&gt;part of his sad symphony tonight&lt;br /&gt;and aches,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are we alive?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110249481340009612?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110249481340009612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110249481340009612&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249481340009612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249481340009612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/refrigerator-2.html' title='Refrigerator 2'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-110249469769872293</id><published>2004-12-08T01:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T00:31:37.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Refrigerator 1</title><content type='html'>The refrigerator poems are written in my kitchen by the limited vocabularies of "magnetic Poetry" on my refrigerator door. Here is one of them;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember old love&lt;br /&gt;crazy and wild&lt;br /&gt;he whispered one night&lt;br /&gt;if I would be in his arms&lt;br /&gt;I smiled and asked why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I smell and lick your beautiful breasts time after time&lt;br /&gt;to play with your bare skin&lt;br /&gt;watching you moan, shake and cry&lt;br /&gt;beneath the misty rain&lt;br /&gt;as wind goes through your hair&lt;br /&gt;and kisses your tiny bitter sweet thighs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you look weak in the moment&lt;br /&gt;yet want to make eternal love&lt;br /&gt;and we become one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110249469769872293?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110249469769872293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110249469769872293&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249469769872293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249469769872293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/refrigerator-1.html' title='Refrigerator 1'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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-9516507.post-110249375227241868</id><published>2004-12-08T01:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-08T14:26:18.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mystery</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;As I walked into the Peet's Cafe the smell of Dickerson coffee was intoxicating. The dark, rich espresso color chairs and tables with the classic music makes the cafe warm and inviting. There was a long line so I decided to use the bathroom. As I was waiting, I heard a little girl making an uncomfortable sound in the bathroom. I waited a bit longer and finally the bathroom door opened. A tall, chubby guy walked out as he held a little girl's hand. The little girl looked scared and insecure. She avoided my eye contact and rubbed her red eyes. I looked at the guy and I did not like what I felt. He went toward another girl who was standing behind me. She looked like the older sister and they all left together. Why didn't the older sister take the little girl to the bathroom? Why did the little girl looked scared? Why was she crying? Was this little girl being molested?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;How much of this observation is true and how much of it is fragment of my imagination, remains unknown. However, assuming that this little girl was being molested then can we fairly say that we were born with free will and life is all about choices? Or is our life already pre destined the minute we were born depending which country, what type of family, rich or poor,what religion and culture our parents had? Are we creators of our lives? Is life really all about choices?What kind of relationship will this little girl chose? Will she hate her mother for not protecting her? Will she become a bisexual or a lesbian? Will she hate men? Will she end up committing suicide? Will she murder someone? Will she become a passive wife and end up in the battered women shelter or will she become a prosecutor to put child molesters like her dad behind the bars?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;To what extend life is a destiny remains a mystery.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1 Comments:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/700252"&gt;shady&lt;/a&gt; said...&lt;br /&gt;a mystery that will never be solved... u told me once that all people go thru hardship... some decide to survive it and become stronger and some act like a victim to life... i liked ur statement... we should all be survivors... we should 'will'...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/%20110240032783337518"&gt;10:18 PM&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/delete-comment.do?blogID=9483665&amp;postID=110240032783337518"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9483665&amp;amp;postID=110231972535144931"&gt;Post a Comment&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9516507-110249375227241868?l=mehrabaneman.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/feeds/110249375227241868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9516507&amp;postID=110249375227241868&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249375227241868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9516507/posts/default/110249375227241868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mehrabaneman.blogspot.com/2004/12/mystery.html' title='Mystery'/><author><name>Mehrabaneman</name><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>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
