I should consider naming my Blackberry before I sound too crazy when telling you about my best mate at this strange new place.

Semester 1/6

I think you have to either love what you study or, at least, love the people with whom you study. And quite frankly, for the moment, I'm loving neither. I am feeling Holden Caulfield more than ever. Nope, of course, it's not a good thing.

Things To Get Used To

Considering the length of all the idle months spent before finally going back to school, the resumption of classes occurred with much excitement. The new people to meet, new lecturers whose knowledge you can always exploit (if lucky), and most of all, there’s that new set of stationery to get you going. I take stationery very seriously, mind you.

The thought of starting in a new school is all the more exciting. You get to compare the present school from the previous. To witness how differently things are being run and with what objectives; facility over content, lecturers’ profession over educational background, and so on and so on. It’s not even always about State vs Private univesities. Not even about declaring one better than the other. Just a simple urge to observe and maybe prove stereotype wrong.

So classes rolled normally by, with statistics as an exception. I’m not usually too nervous about classes, but numbers are really not my forte. Lectureres were fine, none were snorable, again with statistics as an exception. The school should be regarded highly for being well organised administration and regulation-wise, it almost feels like high school all over again. Entry passes for the late, a lost-and-found service that actually function (i recently lost my notebook and found it a week later kept safely on their shelf, that’s got to be something). I was really looking forward to any toilet pass regulations, but there was none, much to my disappointment. Pleasant, really.

On its consistent speed, time passed, and midterms arrived. I did the usual cramming, memorising theories, dreadfully gearing up my right hand for long writings that will hopefully fill the four pages of folio paper. Some lecturers like it long and verbose, so I had sort of warmed up for it overnight.

The digital clock on my one-month old Blackberry showed 13.00 in no time and naturally, I had butterflies all over. Organised as they were, the seats were numbered and students had to seat according to their given numbers. Fascinating stuff, when you’re used to the whole sit-anywhere-you-please exam situation. The number one uni in the country surely lost points there, though on a matter not too obligatory.

I got front row and learned that that’s where I’ll be seating the rest of the week. It worried me a bit, until I realised I didn’t even have that many people to ask or confirm answers from. Shit I didn’t have anyone, in fact. Not because they were unreliable, but because I never got close enough to anyone to go all buddy-buddy during exams, and in the mean time begging strangers would risk too much of the reputation I have managed to gain (another story). So I stopped worrying and pep-talked myself out of it.

We were told to finish within an hour and I thought they were nuts. Two hours were rarely ever sufficient, let alone an hour.

But my stress quickly subsided as soon as the papers were handed out.

I mean, I really did not expect to be working with multiple choices ever again in my entire uni life. Let alone “match these sentences to the given terms below” instructions.

Not that I miss the four-paged folio... but...

What's New

A few years ago I thought it was necessary that I leave here immediately. For growth's sake. For experience's sake, and mostly, for inspiration's sake. All the while, I've watched people leave, and adapt, and learn the things this place don't teach, see what this city does not offer, meet faces unfamiliar. And I just think, what can be more exciting and inspiring? I see photographs taken in fields of green and let myself be taken aback by jealousy. Writings that tell of city strolls. How I loathe the fact that I can't even afford to have something as simple. I want to take those photos, I want to write those pieces, I want to sit and be the one that enjoys them. Daydreaming is not even funny anymore. It is all too familiar, and familiar is not always cool.

The closest thing I got to going somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere new, was enrolling for a three year bachelor course in communications in The London School of Public Relations... wait for it... Jakarta. A London School in Jakarta. Haha. Go figure.