“If Syria used chemical weapons on its people, then the Syrian rebels are justified in using chemical weapons to defend themselves, and the US will supply them from our vast stockpiles of chemical weapons.”
Actually I believe that we should stay out of another conflict in the Middle-East. Syria’s allies, Russia and Iran, could make the war a regional one, endangering the world’s supply of oil.
Holiday coming. Prepare to have fun!
I hate waiting. Most people I know hate waiting. Life is full of waiting: we wait for loved ones to come home, we wait for movies to start, we wait in lines at groceries, banks, or the DMV. We wait to hear the results of tests at school, and the results of tests about our health. Right now my love is waiting to find out if a new job will come through, unable to make commitments until he does. As writers, we wait for the muse to strike, we wait to hear back about a submission, we wait to see if anyone will discover our work, and we wait to learn if they love it as we do. All this waiting creates an often excruciating sense of anticipation, anxiety, or dread. It puts us in a state of suspended animation, of limbo: we understand, while in this limbo, why Dante…
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There is no complete Chinese dinner without a soup, says me. 😀 As mentioned before, a classic Chinese home dinner is a combination of 3 dishes plus 1 soup. No matter if it is for two, three or four people. This combination is a hidden sign of welcoming the guests, a proper polite gesture from the host. In Malaysia, sometimes it can be more expensive to cook at home than to eat out, especially when a soup is prepared. My mom, the soup master usually puts a whole chicken, a few of dried scallops, dried oysters, dried jujubes, dried goji berries together with some Chinese herbs or root vegetables in a medium size pot and cook for hours. As you can probably imagine how intense the flavor would turn out, no MSG nor salt are needed for her soups. I simply love her chicken soup, a healing effect for my…
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“Are you a boy or a girl?” my mom whispers into the phone, afraid her roommate might hear her question.
“A girl,” I say.
“You ARE?” she asks, as if she can’t believe it, as if it’s deeply upsetting for her.
“How long have you been a girl?”
“I’ve always been a girl, Mom.”
“I never knew all this time that you were a girl,” she says, a note of shock in her voice. “Does it bother you to be a girl?”
“Does everyone else in the family know you’re a girl?”
“No one ever told me.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“Do you look like a girl?” she asks.
“I guess so.”
“Do you have long hair?”
“No, I have short hair.”
“Do you dress like a girl?”
“Umm … yes.”
“Do you get your period and that kind of stuff?”
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