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Ever since high school, one of my most fervent dreams - besides owning a Lamborgini, winning a big literary award, and seeing the cherry blossoms in Japan - was to be the proud owner of a respectable stubble of beard on my chin. I'm almost 24, and the best I can manage is a very, very pathetic version of the beard Gordon Liu strokes in Kill Bill vol. 2.

My brother has fared off much better than myself in this respect, his growth making him look older despite being born 4 years later than me. It helps that he also sports a pair of black rimmed eyeglasses, thereby completing his angas-slash-rocker-type-slash-intellectual look.

Argh.

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You might think - if there are in fact, any people out there who read my crap - that I write this out of the sheer boredom of my office existence, but on the contrary, this is just something I need to put out lest I'm driven insane by all the TAGALOG pages I have to go through today.

See? Argh.

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