Guess who got to degree this week! My Ir. title is only about a decade away! That is, if I decide to pursue a career as a professional engineer instead of just, you know, waving the certificate around and doing business or something. I did join Institute of Engineers Malaysia already, which is apparently for networking among other student engineers. Sounds pretty ridiculous as engineers have about as much social skills as a kiwi bird. I have classes from Monday to Friday and lab sessions for four out of five subjects. Thank God there we do not have labs for Maths. That would be very disturbing (dissecting equations and extreme graphing experiments?). My lecturers are okay, although one is not – healthwise. He looks so worn out that you feel like offering him a chair and a glass of water every time he starts teaching. Poor fella.

On the darker and less optimisic side of things, my hostel room is on the fifth floor again. (Fourth if you exclude the ground floor.) I am used to it, just … not particularly happy. My roommates for this year are Anis and Anis, whom I shall call Anis and Anis for the fun of it/ to annoy them. I have negotiated with them and got the single bed, which means a lot more privacy and better sleep. Anis and Anis and I are going to request for a different room, if possible. The privacy of having my own corner is really nice though. It is as neat as I can keep it, and not affected by Anis’s mess. Sadly, I no longer have an awesome view overlooking the city.

View from my window.

The garden, which sort of compensates for the view.

This morning I wasted practically half of my chamomile tea by accidentally spilling it on my left foot. My left foot is undamaged but I have less tea now. I should have just used my big mug, instead of my cute red mug. All these little mugs don’t do justice to the drink they contain. I only have one lecture today as we have no tutorials on the first week. I watched a 90s Gundam, which was corny but not so bad. I have no space to store downloads anymore . Such a pity, because my download speed just went up to 1.0 mbps. I nearly wept, then went to sleep. The bloody kebab shop is still on holidays so I must hunt for lunch somewhere else.

My high school held a fair that looked like a Ramadhan bazaar, but was not because everyone was eating normally. There was the usual: meeting old classmates and greeting old teachers. Fanna was in supreme clarity in my dream. I haven’t seen her in a million years, bloody useless git. Anyway. Another person I clearly remembered was my Biology teacher, all dressed up in a kebaya with her hair in a bun like she was going to sing a classic Malay song from the 50’s onstage. She proceeded to show Fanna and I how to do iris exercises. This is where you change the size of your iris rapidly using your wotsit muscles in your eyes. Fanna sucked, but I was good at it. I bashfully admitted that I too practice it sometimes, and also said this: “It reminds me of an animation of a cross-section of a moving earthworm.”

So suddenly there was this room of random French men – no not doing anything wrong – they were having a war it seems, in an opulent room with panelled walls and high ceilings. It looked very casual also, then there were random Jack Sparrow-esque dudes, who were about to go to battle. I might have been listening to “Libera Me” From Hell excessively. Rap Opera is a new genre for me. Needless to say I liked the opera and hated the rap anyway.

Then a new fact was forced into my head: my parents had sent Kitsune to some of rich relatives who lived in one of those modern green homes but in some obscure place up north. It was called Mobilhill. I must have been bearing some unknown loathing towards Mobil because these relatives dumped my cat somewhere in their dead kampong town. I took this quite easily, then I saw a cat that looked nearly exactly like Kitsune. Brown stripes, white chin, pencil-rubber-coloured nose, but no curled tail. I sank to the floor dramatically (in front of a launderette) and just bawled and screamed profanity. To lose a pet from death is one thing, but to actually have people to blame is beyond anything. I would go on a murder rampage and hunt down every brown stripy cat in the world, sacrificing my studies. Go batshit crazy. Is this my mental preparation for my cat’s future natural death? I hope he lives long.

Since my old phone got lost, a new one has taken its place (since Wednesday). No, it is not the iPhone. Not vain enough to own one, and I would rather waste money on books, clothes or another hard drive. But exam nerves have delayed me from posting photos. Well, it’s not like my exams have even begun. I have two papers tomorrow, English and Applied Maths Vile and Difficult Kinematics. I do hope all goes well.

In case it doesn’t, I’ll play with my effective time waster. It’s incredible how much time I can spend cropping 240 px by 320 px wallpapers to fit the screen or download pirated games or scroll through 3 gigs of songs just trying to find a nice ringtone.

So now I present you my shiny once RM-1.8k-now-only-RM-800 Sony Ericsson w980. Phwoar!

Mellotron the w980. Phone charm was a Bali souvenir from big brother.

Good luck to people facing doom. Finals, that is. The pathway to temporary freedom is a dangerous one. I shall now go on hiatus. Slap me if I blog before the 27th, 4 p.m.

No, really, I do not know how to talk corny. Like Dr. Yang in Grey’s Anatomy. I do not know how to talk girl. Am sorry for letting people wallow in their problems, instead of helping them. I wish I could help out. But no.

I … I lost my phone. My poor, (quite) darling little W800i, and my Suzaku charm with it. All I did was go for tea with Fen and Nanas and roamed about this boring place, a shopping mall. And I lost it! I think it must have been during the time I sat in the lift. Okay, I squatted because there were no other people and no chairs either.

Mind you, these anime phone charms can fetch prices up to 10 USD. Fucking ridiculous, but that is the price of quality you pay when all these girl otakus in the online world want to get one. So why am I fuming about my phone charm first before my phone? It’s rarer. I could have auctioned it for thirty ringgit on eBay.

At any rate, the W800i was a good phone. It was not excellent, but it was a nice phone. Mine was scratched, a little chipped at the corners, and filled with classical music and indie nonsense like you wouldn’t believe. Nothing you would want to steal. No pornographic videos, but there is one of Nanas playing the electone.

Following her advice, I texted the Thief, “If you return this phone, I will pay you.” No one made any phone calls, so God’s going to chop his hands off in hell, over and over. While on fire too, I expect.