We played leapfrog in class today.  Literarily, not literally. As in, we played with words, not jumped over each others’ backs. (Just in case you scanned this really quick and didn’t read properly).

Writing Experiments is too fun I think all my classes are eerily fun, which probably makes most of you hate me right now.

Like in Contemporary TV Studies this morning, we watched the pilot for Buffy (‘Hellmouth’, which sadly, made all the 2nd/3rd years groan with the bad memories it evoked of Media Texts) in addition to an endless amount of yibbering purely because the auditorium is still wonky and the DVD player wouldn’t play.

Radio & TV Journalism, the lecture that followed, would probably make the more academically-oriented scream in terror because of the pure sacrilege. Our lecturer is an actual part time DJ who has been in the business eight years, who cusses eloquently and is remarkably disdainful of the amount of readings we have (ye gads, two readers, a tutorial guide and unit book. Who needs this shit, honestly!) and would prefer to scrap it. He’s also promised us field trips into actual radio stations, and hinted at the possibility of us being on his show and hosting live debates! *eyes shiny with excitement*

I’m sorry. Simple minds like mine are thrilled by the slightest thing, and I adore being different. Which is about as different as everybody else, which is actually not so different at the end of the day hmm.

I’m nattering now, I am aware. This is because I have had four doses of coffee today and the boyfriend is glad he isn’t here (said jokingly, of course. If he didn’t really want to be with me I’d kick his white ass from here to infinity) because he knows how dangerous I can get on too much caffeine. Even my being tired is done in a hyperactive fashion, which as one may guess, is not very fun.

So it’s week 2 of classes, and I have another 13 14 13 14 15 whateverfuck left. Who cares how many I have left, I cannot count. I’m deeply excited, of course, because thanks to the help of a blog reader of mine (you know who you are—bighugegigantoidhumongous hugs your way!) I am almost as good as on my way to Melbourne for my three-week mini-break with my hard-earned cash.

Not too many details, because someone might decide to ruin it for me and rat on me to my parents *evilly eyeballs any suspects*. All I can say is that if you really are that evil, you are the lowest form of low and I will despise you and all your future spawn and condemn you to no sexual orgasmic bliss—ever.

Hah! (I realise this is effective because I cursed Dahlia with this jokingly and she was so gobsmacked at the sheer horridness of it all and demanded, wide-eyed, that I take it back—yes, I am mature and also have plenty of equally, if not more, mature friends).

Also, woot woot—to all of you who have asked about when I would be getting Black (Scrap) Metal, let me with great joy announce that it is ready for collection, at the very latest by next week. Huzzah! Here’s to not taking an hour to get back home by bus and running the risk of being flattened by a careening lorry.

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I went to watch my cousin Sylfyn tappety-tip-tap her way across the stage yesterday at the Civic Centre in Petaling Jaya for the annual Federal Academy of Ballet concert. It was really cute—because there were all these cute little kiddies doing their dance routines, some off time, some not at all elegantly, but some with all their hearts in it—and it evoked these ‘awwww…’ feelings within me. Anyway after the overdose of waist-high kiddos, the cousin and her group of tap-dancing friends seemed (haha, forgive me, Che) sesat-ed.

And I was too tickled by my aunt’s whispered comment that the tip-tap of their shoes sounded like ‘tahi lembu jatuh‘ (falling cow faeces) because that’s what her old marching instructor when she was in the police used to say. And by my grandmother’s loud but comical sighing that everyone looked the same and all she could see was white and red.

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With me sending out job applications and such, it’s slowly sinking in that omigosh, I’m almost done with possibly the most memorable part of my life—university. While I admittedly cannot wait to be done so that I can finally become financially independent, I am also sad that the end has come so soon. I know there’s always the option to return for postgraduate studies; perhaps, in a few years. Definately not for the next two years, though. I need some changes.

I need the step back, away from the deadly dependency I have on the money of others. I need to start being my own person. I need to be away from my family, as evil and terrigible as that sounds—because I am the type of person who finds that distance enables me to endear loved ones, closer to me.

Like I am so crazyinsanemadunbelievably missing the Kiwi and everything about him; I cannot wait till the plane touches down and I get him all to myself for three heavenly, blissful weeks. Even if it’s just curled up on the couch with him in front of the TV, or driving around singing terribly off-key, or lying in bed in the dark talking about anything and everything.

It’s incredible how at peace I feel when I’m with him. I’m sorry if it sounds corny, but I’m marveling at it and haven’t stopped since I decided to give it a chance.

I feel complete in a way I never knew I could.

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I’m addicted to Brooke Fraser’s clear, mellow voice. Hers, and Eva Cassidy’s. I love female vocalists who sing to lovely jazzy bluesy emo tunes.  *closes eyes in rapture*

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I got an email from a friend just yesterday, and she ended with possibly the most beautiful quote I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t know if she coined it herself, or extracted it from somewhere, but the simple words touched me to the bottom of my heart, simply because I believe in the healing power of tears and the magic of dreams:

“Sometimes, the tears we weep are to water the dreams we hold close and refuse to let go.”