† Fяosтмoυяиðє D€åTµ§ Øƒ £Vï¿§ †: Maldives Police Service Deputy Commis

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Maldives Police Service Deputy Commis

Local

NewsDeputy Police Commissioner leaves the countryMale'

- Reliable sources reveal that Deputy Commissioner of Police, Ibrahim Latheef, left the country to Australia on 17th August on a 4 years leave to do his PhD research. The source also confirmed that Golhaabo refused to accept his resignation from the police and that this was just a pretext for him to leave the force, at least for the time being. DO reported earlier in June that Latheef had submitted his resignation along with former Home Minister Thasmeen, who was transferred to Atoll Ministry.

What is † Fяosтмoυяиðє D€åTµ§ Øƒ £Vï¿§ † ?

Where am “I” today? Where am I standing?... Yeah sometimes, as most, I'd laugh off the question. I imagine a scene from a movie. "I was walking and suddenly I realized... where the hell am I?". And that's almost it. I'd share it with my friends and they'd start laughing. Because the movie made a good joke yeah. Then I'd stop smiling and stare at my friends for a while... feeling so much more just a fool. I'd ask myself. Did I just gather a group to make a joke at myself and laugh at me? Or did I actually say something funny and meaningless. And mostly, believe me when I say this... it's option 1. But where am I standing today?

2 years ago, when I was 12, I was so fucking depressed. I wanted nothing more, but just to run away. I almost felt abused. I read my journal today... everything I did back then was written down. I found them on my precious backup disks. And strangely, though beautiful... I felt reconnected to myself. To who I used to be. Uncool, no talents, fat and ugly, unwanted minion... no need. Even today, I feel the same. But I'm way ahead, from who I used to be. So much more, I've seen. So much I've sinned, burnt myself. Trying to walk tall with these god damn bruises. But nomore do I want to run away.. I wish to terminate. Can't help punishing myself everyday for occupying space. This cubic area I take from air... to exist here with the rest of you all. And I'd punish myself till I was six feet under. Away from derision. But who am I? I'm needed today. People would cry if I died. So many promises I'd throw away. But I can't help care. I can't stop. I need to move. I'm bruised. If I stayed, I'd be bombarded on again. And I won't survive the next wave. I know I won't. They thought I was tough when I fixed their problems. They thought I was strong when I didn't cry. They thought I'm a genius when I performed miraculous mind games. They're wrong. I'm just bruised. I can achieve. But it's today. It's now. And my knees are drilled. My legs broken, and my waist displaced. My eyes soar, my lips peeled, and my skin so dry. I'm abused. But yeah look at me now. Still standing in the middle of the crowd. I still exist and I can't help it. Cigarettes couldn't take me there. Alchohol & drugs, just not me and I won't get near it.

I walk down the street staring at people hurrying to places. Busy doing something. Always going somwhere. And when I come home, it's up to my throat. Like I'm about to throw. I run upstairs. I reside in my coop. Barely kneel down holding the edge of a table, and cry it out. But what's wrong with me? Look at me! I don't have a single broken bone. I don't have a single mark on my skin. No fat lips, nothing. But I can barely stand. And I can't help it. I try to sing, but it doesn't work. I change into my sports wear and jump in the ocean. No it still doesn't work. I switch off my cell phone and smoke so much I feel insane. Yet it's there. I drank everything I'm allergic to. I vomited blood for a week. It's like everything inside me is out now. But it's still there! Is it because I can't share myself with someone? Is it because I can't talk to people. That my web log is now stained with meaningless complaints and exaggerated definitions. And I know it doesn't mean anything to you. But it's something I'm so tired of inhaling, since me.

What is Where am “I” today? Where am I standing?... Yeah sometimes, as most, I'd laugh off the question. I imagine a scene from a movie. "I was walking and suddenly I realized... where the hell am I?". And that's almost it. I'd share it with my friends and they'd start laughing. Because the movie made a good joke yeah. Then I'd stop smiling and stare at my friends for a while... feeling so much more just a fool. I'd ask myself. Did I just gather a group to make a joke at myself and laugh at me? Or did I actually say something funny and meaningless. And mostly, believe me when I say this... it's option 1. But where am I standing today?
4 years ago, when I was 17, I was so fucking depressed. I wanted nothing more, but just to run away. I almost felt abused. I read my journal today... everything I did back then was written down. I found them on my precious backup disks. And strangely, though beautiful... I felt reconnected to myself. To who I used to be. Uncool, no talents, fat and ugly, unwanted minion... no need. Even today, I feel the same. But I'm way ahead, from who I used to be. So much more, I've seen. So much I've sinned, burnt myself. Trying to walk tall with these god damn bruises. But nomore do I want to run away.. I wish to terminate. Can't help punishing myself everyday for occupying space. This cubic area I take from air... to exist here with the rest of you all. And I'd punish myself till I was six feet under. Away from derision. But who am I? I'm needed today. People would cry if I died. So many promises I'd throw away. But I can't help care. I can't stop. I need to move. I'm bruised. If I stayed, I'd be bombarded on again. And I won't survive the next wave. I know I won't. They thought I was tough when I fixed their problems. They thought I was strong when I didn't cry. They thought I'm a genius when I performed miraculous mind games. They're wrong. I'm just bruised. I can achieve. But it's today. It's now. And my knees are drilled. My legs broken, and my waist displaced. My eyes soar, my lips peeled, and my skin so dry. I'm abused. But yeah look at me now. Still standing in the middle of the crowd. I still exist and I can't help it. Cigarettes couldn't take me there. Alchohol & drugs, just not me and I won't get near it.
I walk down the street staring at people hurrying to places. Busy doing something. Always going somwhere. And when I come home, it's up to my throat. Like I'm about to throw. I run upstairs. I reside in my coop. Barely kneel down holding the edge of a table, and cry it out. But what's wrong with me? Look at me! I don't have a single broken bone. I don't have a single mark on my skin. No fat lips, nothing. But I can barely stand. And I can't help it. I try to sing, but it doesn't work. I change into my sports wear and jump in the ocean. No it still doesn't work. I switch off my cell phone and smoke so much I feel insane. Yet it's there. I drank everything I'm allergic to. I vomited blood for a week. It's like everything inside me is out now. But it's still there! Is it because I can't share myself with someone? Is it because I can't talk to people. That my web log is now stained with meaningless complaints and exaggerated definitions. And I know it doesn't mean anything to you. But it's something I'm so tired of inhaling, since me.
What is Frostmourne? It is prosthetics for Emperor Massacre.The new generation facade.Where am “I” today? Where am I standing?... Yeah sometimes, as most, I'd laugh off the question. I imagine a scene from a movie. "I was walking and suddenly I realized... where the hell am I?". And that's almost it. I'd share it with my friends and they'd start laughing. Because the movie made a good joke yeah. Then I'd stop smiling and stare at my friends for a while... feeling so much more just a fool. I'd ask myself. Did I just gather a group to make a joke at myself and laugh at me? Or did I actually say something funny and meaningless. And mostly, believe me when I say this... it's option 1. But where am I standing today?
4 years ago, when I was 17, I was so fucking depressed. I wanted nothing more, but just to run away. I almost felt abused. I read my journal today... everything I did back then was written down. I found them on my precious backup disks. And strangely, though beautiful... I felt reconnected to myself. To who I used to be. Uncool, no talents, fat and ugly, unwanted minion... no need. Even today, I feel the same. But I'm way ahead, from who I used to be. So much more, I've seen. So much I've sinned, burnt myself. Trying to walk tall with these god damn bruises. But nomore do I want to run away.. I wish to terminate. Can't help punishing myself everyday for occupying space. This cubic area I take from air... to exist here with the rest of you all. And I'd punish myself till I was six feet under. Away from derision. But who am I? I'm needed today. People would cry if I died. So many promises I'd throw away. But I can't help care. I can't stop. I need to move. I'm bruised. If I stayed, I'd be bombarded on again. And I won't survive the next wave. I know I won't. They thought I was tough when I fixed their problems. They thought I was strong when I didn't cry. They thought I'm a genius when I performed miraculous mind games. They're wrong. I'm just bruised. I can achieve. But it's today. It's now. And my knees are drilled. My legs broken, and my waist displaced. My eyes soar, my lips peeled, and my skin so dry. I'm abused. But yeah look at me now. Still standing in the middle of the crowd. I still exist and I can't help it. Cigarettes couldn't take me there. Alchohol & drugs, just not me and I won't get near it.
I walk down the street staring at people hurrying to places. Busy doing something. Always going somwhere. And when I come home, it's up to my throat. Like I'm about to throw. I run upstairs. I reside in my coop. Barely kneel down holding the edge of a table, and cry it out. But what's wrong with me? Look at me! I don't have a single broken bone. I don't have a single mark on my skin. No fat lips, nothing. But I can barely stand. And I can't help it. I try to sing, but it doesn't work. I change into my sports wear and jump in the ocean. No it still doesn't work. I switch off my cell phone and smoke so much I feel insane. Yet it's there. I drank everything I'm allergic to. I vomited blood for a week. It's like everything inside me is out now. But it's still there! Is it because I can't share myself with someone? Is it because I can't talk to people. That my web log is now stained with meaningless complaints and exaggerated definitions. And I know it doesn't mean anything to you. But it's something I'm so tired of inhaling, since me.

What is Frostmourne? It is prosthetics for Emperor Massacre.The new generation facade.? It is prosthetics for Emperor Massacre.The new generation facade.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Maldives Police Service Deputy Commis

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What is † Fяosтмoυяиðє D€åTµ§ Øƒ £Vï¿§ † ?