to anyone who still checks this bloody thing:
i ain't updating this no more. (haha why do i sound like FITTY CENT all of a sudden?)
instead, see my personal blog.
that is, if you, for some reason, want to.
i certainly wouldn't!
7/4/08
the end of the semester
Eight (or seven, I'm not sure how you count exactly) posts ago I wrote about the start of the new semester, and now it's time to write about, well, the end of it. It's been quite a relaxed short semester, and in all honesty it's been quite enjoyable. What's not to like, really, about a class that's mostly about writing? Well, a lot, really, if you don't like writing. But I do. Thus, by extension, I liked and enjoyed the class very much. Nice way to close the first "long semester-long semester-short semester" cycle of this degree.
I don't have much to say, really. It's been a good seven weeks or so, in most aspects: university, life, me, friends, my creative exploits and my efforts to deprive myself of as much sleep as possible. I learned quite a bit and got some good feedback throughout the semester in regards to writing, and that's always a good thing, is it not? While I perhaps haven't written as much as I'd like recently (and thus haven't really been able to apply all the stuff that I learned), it's partly because of all the writing I've been doing in class and for the coursework and stuff. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. Certainly not.
Not much more to say, really, without this post descending into a morass of all-too-personal thoughts and semi-melodrama. And even if that wasn't really a proble, I don't think I'd want to say and touch upon some of the things I want to, not even on my personal blog. Primarily because certain things are best kept to myself . . . and a few friends. Heh.
So yeah. One step closer to the end of the year, one step closer to the end of this degree, one step closer to the end of my life as a student, one step closer to being thrust forcibly—kicking and screaming—into the "real world."
But I'm not worried about that. Let's jump off those cliffs when we come to them, eh?
I don't have much to say, really. It's been a good seven weeks or so, in most aspects: university, life, me, friends, my creative exploits and my efforts to deprive myself of as much sleep as possible. I learned quite a bit and got some good feedback throughout the semester in regards to writing, and that's always a good thing, is it not? While I perhaps haven't written as much as I'd like recently (and thus haven't really been able to apply all the stuff that I learned), it's partly because of all the writing I've been doing in class and for the coursework and stuff. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. Certainly not.
Not much more to say, really, without this post descending into a morass of all-too-personal thoughts and semi-melodrama. And even if that wasn't really a proble, I don't think I'd want to say and touch upon some of the things I want to, not even on my personal blog. Primarily because certain things are best kept to myself . . . and a few friends. Heh.
So yeah. One step closer to the end of the year, one step closer to the end of this degree, one step closer to the end of my life as a student, one step closer to being thrust forcibly—kicking and screaming—into the "real world."
But I'm not worried about that. Let's jump off those cliffs when we come to them, eh?
6/30/08
a photograph
It's somewhere around 7pm on a Monday and the Pasar Seni LRT Station is pretty much full of people. The trains heading in both directions are nearly always totally full of people, and thus few people can actually get on them, which contributes to the large amount of people loitering around. And then there are the people—like me—who've decided to sit down and waste some time doing other things while waiting for emptier trains to arrive. I decide to get my camera out of my bag and affix my 135mm lens onto it, and I begin walking about and snapping photos. As I'm walking about, I see her. She's wearing a dark brown jacket and a white headscarf with floral designs. Her handbag, also something of a dark brown—although most probably black—is slung over her right shoulder. She's sitting down on one of the many benches, looking out onto the tracks, waiting for the next train to arrive, seemingly lost in thought. Beside her, a man in a black-and-white checkered shirt holds his phone up to his right ear and is talking with someone on the other end. I brace myself against a wall, compose the photo, and press the shutter. Another photo in the bag.
6/22/08
postcard poems
"this is the life"
drinking singapore slings
with mescal on the side
much like raoul duke
with a 300 pound samoan lawyer by his side—
sun is shining
water's sparkling
sunlight reflected by the white sand blinds my eyes—
am i sandblind?
that word doesn't exist does it though
no, no it doesnt.
watch a
girl in a
bikini—
a blue bikini—
a very tiny bikini—
jump into the ocean
and make a huge splash.
i am doing nothing of note
i am not doing anything useful—
oh yes
this is the life.
"missed"
last night i sat on the beach
beer bottle in one hand
cigarette in the other
and watched the sun set just out of reach.
i miss you already.
(#1 is poem sent out, #2 is poem recieved)
(also this isn't actually poetry is it?)
drinking singapore slings
with mescal on the side
much like raoul duke
with a 300 pound samoan lawyer by his side—
sun is shining
water's sparkling
sunlight reflected by the white sand blinds my eyes—
am i sandblind?
that word doesn't exist does it though
no, no it doesnt.
watch a
girl in a
bikini—
a blue bikini—
a very tiny bikini—
jump into the ocean
and make a huge splash.
i am doing nothing of note
i am not doing anything useful—
oh yes
this is the life.
"missed"
last night i sat on the beach
beer bottle in one hand
cigarette in the other
and watched the sun set just out of reach.
i miss you already.
(#1 is poem sent out, #2 is poem recieved)
(also this isn't actually poetry is it?)
6/21/08
a modern-day lament
i understand einstein and da vinci,
quantum physics and the theory of relativity,
but what i can't seem to understand is why
no-one wants to be friends with me.
apparently,
the fact that i can solve complex mathematical equations
doesn't necessarily mean i have any ability
when it comes to social relations.
i've memorized pi to the 34th decimal number
but i'd gladly trade that knowledge
for someone's cell phone number.
maybe hers?
i'm tired of being special
i just want to be normal
i want friends, dammit.
no more numbers!
burn the books, yeah,
maybe that'll make me look cool.
quantum physics and the theory of relativity,
but what i can't seem to understand is why
no-one wants to be friends with me.
apparently,
the fact that i can solve complex mathematical equations
doesn't necessarily mean i have any ability
when it comes to social relations.
i've memorized pi to the 34th decimal number
but i'd gladly trade that knowledge
for someone's cell phone number.
maybe hers?
i'm tired of being special
i just want to be normal
i want friends, dammit.
no more numbers!
burn the books, yeah,
maybe that'll make me look cool.
6/17/08
the experience of attending a romantic play, seen from two differing viewpoints of a father and his daughter
The Father
She knows that I have lots of work to do. I told her myself, just last night. But she just had to tell Siti that it was I, not her, that was going to take her to this play. “It's her birthday,” she said, “why don't you take her out? For a change?
“Besides, she really wants to go and, well, you do want to see her happy, right?”
That last phrase of her had a slightly threatening overtone to it, so I agreed, and here I am: dressed to the nines, sitting in a darkened theatre, watching a romantic play with my daughter. I never liked romantic plays, to be honest. They're always so cliche and nearly every character or plot device is either done to death or only a slight (and by slight I mean slight) “twist” to the cliche.
This play isn't an exception. Look at it: you have your star-crossed lovers, you have your ever-present disapproving family, you have your instance of platonic intimacy while watching leaves fall from a tree, it's all just so . . . typical, so common, so overdone. Let's just say there's nothing about this play that I'll remember tomorrow night, that's for sure. I don't know why people keep coming to these plays.
And to think I could be sitting inside my office at home—sipping a mug of Nescafe, no doubt—while finishing up all the work I have yet to do.
But when I turn to look at Siti, I see that she's smiling, engrossed in the tale, and I can see in her eyes that she's enjoying the “spectacle” (to borrow a phrase from the promotional flyer she handed to me), so, well, I guess I could try and survive this. For her.
The Daughter
I'm so happy that I'm going at the play tonight! I'm happy that I'm here with dad, too, because I don't see enough of him sometimes. He's so busy with his PDA and pointing at things with his stylus that sometimes it feels like he doesn't care.
But I know he does, or else why would he bring me here?
I like how he's dressed even more fancily than I am: I'm not used to these kinds of things, so I put on a simple dress and that was that, but dad, well . . . I've been to many weddings and I don't think I've seen anyone dressed up as well as he is! Hahaha. It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him dressed up this well.
And it's just a play!
Oh well, it's not like it's a bad thing . . .
This really is a great play: I love the storyline and the characters and oh my God, that scene with them sitting under the tree watching the leaves fall was just so, so cute! This whole play feels so magical, so . . . wonderful. Thank God dad brought me here, this is an experience I'll never forget.
I wish there was a boy who'd love me like the boy in the play does. I really do. We'd cuddle together under a tree and do nothing and say nothing, but just sit there and watch the clouds pass over our heads.
But then I catch a glimpse of dad out of the corner of my eye and I realize that I don't really need a boy to love me. At least, not yet. After all, dad's still around, and he loves me.
. . . Right?
She knows that I have lots of work to do. I told her myself, just last night. But she just had to tell Siti that it was I, not her, that was going to take her to this play. “It's her birthday,” she said, “why don't you take her out? For a change?
“Besides, she really wants to go and, well, you do want to see her happy, right?”
That last phrase of her had a slightly threatening overtone to it, so I agreed, and here I am: dressed to the nines, sitting in a darkened theatre, watching a romantic play with my daughter. I never liked romantic plays, to be honest. They're always so cliche and nearly every character or plot device is either done to death or only a slight (and by slight I mean slight) “twist” to the cliche.
This play isn't an exception. Look at it: you have your star-crossed lovers, you have your ever-present disapproving family, you have your instance of platonic intimacy while watching leaves fall from a tree, it's all just so . . . typical, so common, so overdone. Let's just say there's nothing about this play that I'll remember tomorrow night, that's for sure. I don't know why people keep coming to these plays.
And to think I could be sitting inside my office at home—sipping a mug of Nescafe, no doubt—while finishing up all the work I have yet to do.
But when I turn to look at Siti, I see that she's smiling, engrossed in the tale, and I can see in her eyes that she's enjoying the “spectacle” (to borrow a phrase from the promotional flyer she handed to me), so, well, I guess I could try and survive this. For her.
The Daughter
I'm so happy that I'm going at the play tonight! I'm happy that I'm here with dad, too, because I don't see enough of him sometimes. He's so busy with his PDA and pointing at things with his stylus that sometimes it feels like he doesn't care.
But I know he does, or else why would he bring me here?
I like how he's dressed even more fancily than I am: I'm not used to these kinds of things, so I put on a simple dress and that was that, but dad, well . . . I've been to many weddings and I don't think I've seen anyone dressed up as well as he is! Hahaha. It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him dressed up this well.
And it's just a play!
Oh well, it's not like it's a bad thing . . .
This really is a great play: I love the storyline and the characters and oh my God, that scene with them sitting under the tree watching the leaves fall was just so, so cute! This whole play feels so magical, so . . . wonderful. Thank God dad brought me here, this is an experience I'll never forget.
I wish there was a boy who'd love me like the boy in the play does. I really do. We'd cuddle together under a tree and do nothing and say nothing, but just sit there and watch the clouds pass over our heads.
But then I catch a glimpse of dad out of the corner of my eye and I realize that I don't really need a boy to love me. At least, not yet. After all, dad's still around, and he loves me.
. . . Right?
6/14/08
attempt to pick a favourite fictional character, an
For me, trying to pick one favourite fictional character from all the books I've read, movies I've seen, comics I've read and videogames I've played (they count too, right?) is like trying to pick one favourite song or riff from an album or a band's discography, or trying to pick a favourite scene from a movie or book. It's tough. Perhaps tougher than it should be.
But I'll try! (Primarily because I'm supposed to write this, but yeah . . .)
I guess, in the interest of making sure I don't have to rack my brains too much, I would have to say that my favourite fictional character of recent times is Raoul Duke from Hunter S. Thompson's novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as well as the film adaptation (where Johnny Depp turned in a brilliant performance . . . and you thought he was good in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies).
Yes, Raoul Duke is primarily based on Hunter S. Thompson himself, but he counts, right, as a fictional character? Anyway . . .
I like him primarily because of his distaste of conventional, conservative culture—primarily, his penchant of getting very twisted on anything from cocaine to mescaline to LSD to ether—and how recklessly he goes about his business—alongside his "300 pound Samoan" attorney—first covering (or attempting to) the Mint 400 race, and then attending a narcotics convention in the same city. There's something to be said about performing a "burn" (in his words) on one hotel in Las Vegas before coolly checking into another hotel to do it all over again.
The way he (and his aforementioned attorney) go about degrading and abusing multiple symbols of American (and, really, worldwide) consumerism and excess is something I really enjoy, and is the main thing I really like about the chararcter. You could say I like his "philosophy," I guess. Notably, I feel this strange affinity towards his philosophy of his (and, I presume, by extension, Hunter S. Thompson's) drug use being primarily to make himself into a mess: instead of the "consciousness expansion" that Tim Leary peddled, Duke considers himself a posterchild for a generation of "permanent cripples" and "failed seekers" (to quote directly from the book), and what's not to love about that sort of cynicism?
I'm a cynical bloke, unfortunately, and I can't help but feel an odd sort of affinity towards that kind of weltanschauung (pretentious +1, yeah), that sort of worldview.
Of course, if you'd asked me a year or so ago I'd have mentioned a different character. If you ask me in a year's time it'll probably be a different character. I have more important things to think about than favourite characters, but for now, this is it:
Raoul Duke.
But I'll try! (Primarily because I'm supposed to write this, but yeah . . .)
I guess, in the interest of making sure I don't have to rack my brains too much, I would have to say that my favourite fictional character of recent times is Raoul Duke from Hunter S. Thompson's novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as well as the film adaptation (where Johnny Depp turned in a brilliant performance . . . and you thought he was good in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies).
Yes, Raoul Duke is primarily based on Hunter S. Thompson himself, but he counts, right, as a fictional character? Anyway . . .
I like him primarily because of his distaste of conventional, conservative culture—primarily, his penchant of getting very twisted on anything from cocaine to mescaline to LSD to ether—and how recklessly he goes about his business—alongside his "300 pound Samoan" attorney—first covering (or attempting to) the Mint 400 race, and then attending a narcotics convention in the same city. There's something to be said about performing a "burn" (in his words) on one hotel in Las Vegas before coolly checking into another hotel to do it all over again.
The way he (and his aforementioned attorney) go about degrading and abusing multiple symbols of American (and, really, worldwide) consumerism and excess is something I really enjoy, and is the main thing I really like about the chararcter. You could say I like his "philosophy," I guess. Notably, I feel this strange affinity towards his philosophy of his (and, I presume, by extension, Hunter S. Thompson's) drug use being primarily to make himself into a mess: instead of the "consciousness expansion" that Tim Leary peddled, Duke considers himself a posterchild for a generation of "permanent cripples" and "failed seekers" (to quote directly from the book), and what's not to love about that sort of cynicism?
I'm a cynical bloke, unfortunately, and I can't help but feel an odd sort of affinity towards that kind of weltanschauung (pretentious +1, yeah), that sort of worldview.
Of course, if you'd asked me a year or so ago I'd have mentioned a different character. If you ask me in a year's time it'll probably be a different character. I have more important things to think about than favourite characters, but for now, this is it:
Raoul Duke.
6/6/08
high fidelity
Watched the film High Fidelity in class last Thursday (yes, I know, very recent news . . . blame my sudden decision to get myself addicted to Football Manager 2008 again) and, I have to say, I enjoyed it quite a bit.
One of the first things that struck me about the film while watching it was the odd affinity I felt towards the character of Rob Gordon (played [masterfully, by the way] by John Cusack). I'm not exactly sure why, to be honest. Well, okay, perhaps it was, well, the whole "depressed loser" kinda thing going on with him. For some odd reason.
Another thing I noticed (and very much liked) was how . . . different the movie was and the way it told the story that it wanted to tell. It's definitely not cliche, and was quite a refreshing experience, at least as far as romantic-ish movies go. I liked how the movie started out with a breakup and then went on to detail more, all while Rob goes about his life at the record store and such.
Speaking of the record store, I really enjoyed the scenes set in there, particularly the ones involving Barry. I noticed that a lot of the songs and albums used/mentioned in the movie were really good ones too. Major props for The Jesus and Mary Chain's Psychocandy and Stiff Little Fingers' Inflammable Material.
Admittedly, some of the language used in the film was quite foul (repeated usage of the lovable f-word) and some of the scenes weren't exactly "healthy", but, really, it's not like I'm not used to that stuff. And it's not like we live in a world where everyone speaks "proper", clean language all the time and where no-one gets frisky once in a while. It'd be a sad world if it was, to be honest.
After the credits rolled and the movie ended and the lights went up (no, it wasn't a movie theatre but, well . . .) I couldn't escape feeling that it'd been two hours well-spent watching a quality movie, and I again enjoyed the fact that it was quite a world away from the cookie-cutter romantic tripe so popular in mainstream cinema.
And, of course, I began thinking about how nifty it would be to own a music store . . .
One of the first things that struck me about the film while watching it was the odd affinity I felt towards the character of Rob Gordon (played [masterfully, by the way] by John Cusack). I'm not exactly sure why, to be honest. Well, okay, perhaps it was, well, the whole "depressed loser" kinda thing going on with him. For some odd reason.
Another thing I noticed (and very much liked) was how . . . different the movie was and the way it told the story that it wanted to tell. It's definitely not cliche, and was quite a refreshing experience, at least as far as romantic-ish movies go. I liked how the movie started out with a breakup and then went on to detail more, all while Rob goes about his life at the record store and such.
Speaking of the record store, I really enjoyed the scenes set in there, particularly the ones involving Barry. I noticed that a lot of the songs and albums used/mentioned in the movie were really good ones too. Major props for The Jesus and Mary Chain's Psychocandy and Stiff Little Fingers' Inflammable Material.
Admittedly, some of the language used in the film was quite foul (repeated usage of the lovable f-word) and some of the scenes weren't exactly "healthy", but, really, it's not like I'm not used to that stuff. And it's not like we live in a world where everyone speaks "proper", clean language all the time and where no-one gets frisky once in a while. It'd be a sad world if it was, to be honest.
After the credits rolled and the movie ended and the lights went up (no, it wasn't a movie theatre but, well . . .) I couldn't escape feeling that it'd been two hours well-spent watching a quality movie, and I again enjoyed the fact that it was quite a world away from the cookie-cutter romantic tripe so popular in mainstream cinema.
And, of course, I began thinking about how nifty it would be to own a music store . . .
5/28/08
a concise (and most probably inaccurate and incomplete) recollection of books that i read as a youth
I've been reading since I was young, and it's always been one of my favourite pastimes. While I have read many novels during my time, I'll admit that the vast majority of reading material I ingested when I was younger consisted of comics and all those whodunnit puzzle books, like . . . uh, I forget. I'm sure you know what I mean, though. Of course, I'll abstain from waxing lyrical about how much I loved the Dragon Ball (okay, Mutiara Naga) comics here and, instead, focus on, you know, actual books. Things like, say, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings as opposed to things like Tintin and the aforementioned Mutiara Naga.
One novel which I distinctly remember reading (and enjoying greatly) is The Crystal Drop by Monica Hughes. Seems like hardly anyone's ever heard of it, though, perhaps due to the fact that it's in the "juvenile fiction" category, and as we all know, no-one really reads juvenile fiction. Or admits to doing so. At least not when you're already in university and have "graduated" to more "mature" books. I do recall The Crystal Drop being a great book, well-written and with quite a moving story. It was the first book I ever really loved, it was the first book to actually make me cry (it's not a sad story, no, but it does have a certain amount of emotional content that would probably result in tears for certain emotionally fragile 10-13 year-olds, like yours truly) and it also appealed to my sense of (or desire for, even) adventure. And, of course, what's not to love about a story where a sister and her brother travel 70km across a wasteland formerly known as the Canadian prairies to find an uncle, face many challenges and, at the end, actually wind up loving each other (as brother and sister, of course)? Not much, especially when you're 11.
Another novel which was quite important to me when I was younger is J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. The Hobbit, for those of you not in the know (grr) is the predecessor of Tolkien's later—and much more famous—Lord of the Rings trilogy, and is where the lovable Gollum (amongst many other characters) makes his first appearance. I don't think I really have to explain much why the book was important to me: it was a fantasy book. It had magic. Lots of adventure. Lots of action. A merry band of heroic travellers. Dwarves. And a dragon, for crying out loud. It helped greatly that Mr. Tolkien was a brilliant writer, but, really, I was young, I was nerdy, I was quite socially inept and thus Tolkien's world of Middle Earth with its dwarves, hobbits, elves and gray-clad wizards drew me in very, very deep. Perhaps, just perhaps, The Hobbit was the one that Started It All.
I also have to mention Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain series, which was a fantasy series of five books, all of which I loved (and still love) dearly. Most of the things I loved about The Hobbit I could also find in Lloyd Alexander's series, although admittedly without all the Middle Earth-isms. But the adventure was there, the heroes were great and the stories were appealing. The main character of Taran—a young Assistant Pig-Keeper—was also much easier for me to relate to than the character of Bilbo from The Hobbit, not least because Taran was a human being like me, and a young one at that, along with Princess Eilonwy. The overarching theme of Taran's maturation from youth to adulthood was also particularly appealing to me during that period of my life, for reasons I guess I'm sure most people would understand.
Of course, I read many other books during those younger years (a couple of books by Cristopher Pike come to mind), but, really, those mentioned are the ones that stand out significantly. At least, amongst the ones that I actually finished back then. I used to have a horrible track record in regards to actually finishing the books that I read. I'm sure I've forgotten a few books, but then I guess if I've forgotten them then they're not that important, are they?
I can't help but feel like my memory's failing me, though. Hm hm.
One novel which I distinctly remember reading (and enjoying greatly) is The Crystal Drop by Monica Hughes. Seems like hardly anyone's ever heard of it, though, perhaps due to the fact that it's in the "juvenile fiction" category, and as we all know, no-one really reads juvenile fiction. Or admits to doing so. At least not when you're already in university and have "graduated" to more "mature" books. I do recall The Crystal Drop being a great book, well-written and with quite a moving story. It was the first book I ever really loved, it was the first book to actually make me cry (it's not a sad story, no, but it does have a certain amount of emotional content that would probably result in tears for certain emotionally fragile 10-13 year-olds, like yours truly) and it also appealed to my sense of (or desire for, even) adventure. And, of course, what's not to love about a story where a sister and her brother travel 70km across a wasteland formerly known as the Canadian prairies to find an uncle, face many challenges and, at the end, actually wind up loving each other (as brother and sister, of course)? Not much, especially when you're 11.
Another novel which was quite important to me when I was younger is J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. The Hobbit, for those of you not in the know (grr) is the predecessor of Tolkien's later—and much more famous—Lord of the Rings trilogy, and is where the lovable Gollum (amongst many other characters) makes his first appearance. I don't think I really have to explain much why the book was important to me: it was a fantasy book. It had magic. Lots of adventure. Lots of action. A merry band of heroic travellers. Dwarves. And a dragon, for crying out loud. It helped greatly that Mr. Tolkien was a brilliant writer, but, really, I was young, I was nerdy, I was quite socially inept and thus Tolkien's world of Middle Earth with its dwarves, hobbits, elves and gray-clad wizards drew me in very, very deep. Perhaps, just perhaps, The Hobbit was the one that Started It All.
I also have to mention Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain series, which was a fantasy series of five books, all of which I loved (and still love) dearly. Most of the things I loved about The Hobbit I could also find in Lloyd Alexander's series, although admittedly without all the Middle Earth-isms. But the adventure was there, the heroes were great and the stories were appealing. The main character of Taran—a young Assistant Pig-Keeper—was also much easier for me to relate to than the character of Bilbo from The Hobbit, not least because Taran was a human being like me, and a young one at that, along with Princess Eilonwy. The overarching theme of Taran's maturation from youth to adulthood was also particularly appealing to me during that period of my life, for reasons I guess I'm sure most people would understand.
Of course, I read many other books during those younger years (a couple of books by Cristopher Pike come to mind), but, really, those mentioned are the ones that stand out significantly. At least, amongst the ones that I actually finished back then. I used to have a horrible track record in regards to actually finishing the books that I read. I'm sure I've forgotten a few books, but then I guess if I've forgotten them then they're not that important, are they?
I can't help but feel like my memory's failing me, though. Hm hm.
5/21/08
The new semester
Yeah. Another new semester. More of me doing nothing, except now my days will be punctuated by classes and coursework and assignments and more of actual, y'know, getting out of the house. That sort of stuff. I'm only taking one subject this semester (Creative Writing 1. And, yes, I am a lazy bum) and thus I don't think I'll be too occupied by university-related work and stuff so I'm sure I'll still have lots of time for the other (important) things: writing, photography, music, sleep, porn, that sort of stuff.
It's a short semester this time. 7 weeks. Although having two classes a week for every subject basically makes it still 14 classes in a semester. Just more packed. My previous short semester experience wasn't great (2.8-something GPA oh yeah) so, yeah, I am perhaps a bit apprehensive. If only for the fact that I usually take four weeks just to get going and now, whoa, I'll be getting an assignment on Thursday and will have to pass it up by, yeah . . .
Week four. Whee.
To be honest it was a good enough first day. Spent the whole day after our brief, introductory first class hanging out with friends, as expected, many laughs ensued. What else? I don't think I've ever really had a bad experience hanging out with my friends at uni, oddly enough. I then had dinner at Williams here in Kelana Jaya with some other friends. Quite delicious, if I do say so myself. Even better that one of my friends paid for everything and I didn't even have to get my wallet out. Which was just as well, since when I got home I realized I had all of, what, 15 bucks inside there?
I did, to some extent, miss my friends during the holidays. Ok, maybe not exactly them but more the whole hanging out and talking and laughing and having fun. Or . . . wait, ok, yeah. I did miss them.
In all honesty it seems like it's going to be an alright enough semester. Creative Writing 1 seems interesting (and, honestly, seems like something I should be able to handle easily enough), hanging out with friends is just as fun (as if that would change) and, well, I just have this feeling that it'll be good. Or at least not crappy. Enjoyable, even, perhaps, to an extent. You never know, eh. I just have to avoid spiralling into my typical mid-to-late-semester depression and I should be fine.
(Of course, now that I've mentioned it, I invariably will.)
It's a short semester this time. 7 weeks. Although having two classes a week for every subject basically makes it still 14 classes in a semester. Just more packed. My previous short semester experience wasn't great (2.8-something GPA oh yeah) so, yeah, I am perhaps a bit apprehensive. If only for the fact that I usually take four weeks just to get going and now, whoa, I'll be getting an assignment on Thursday and will have to pass it up by, yeah . . .
Week four. Whee.
To be honest it was a good enough first day. Spent the whole day after our brief, introductory first class hanging out with friends, as expected, many laughs ensued. What else? I don't think I've ever really had a bad experience hanging out with my friends at uni, oddly enough. I then had dinner at Williams here in Kelana Jaya with some other friends. Quite delicious, if I do say so myself. Even better that one of my friends paid for everything and I didn't even have to get my wallet out. Which was just as well, since when I got home I realized I had all of, what, 15 bucks inside there?
I did, to some extent, miss my friends during the holidays. Ok, maybe not exactly them but more the whole hanging out and talking and laughing and having fun. Or . . . wait, ok, yeah. I did miss them.
In all honesty it seems like it's going to be an alright enough semester. Creative Writing 1 seems interesting (and, honestly, seems like something I should be able to handle easily enough), hanging out with friends is just as fun (as if that would change) and, well, I just have this feeling that it'll be good. Or at least not crappy. Enjoyable, even, perhaps, to an extent. You never know, eh. I just have to avoid spiralling into my typical mid-to-late-semester depression and I should be fine.
(Of course, now that I've mentioned it, I invariably will.)
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