Enthusiasm.

THIS TIME IN *COUNTS* OH, JUST A FEW DAYS

I WILL BE HOME

GOTTA SPEND TONIGHT PACKING

GOTTA FINISH AN ESSAY

GOTTA FINISH UP MY NOTES FOR MY PRESENTATION

BUT I DON'T CARE

I CAN'T WAIT

HOLIDAYS WILL BE AWESOME

AND WHEN I COME BACK IT'LL BE EVEN BETTER. 

I love Bristol. 

I really do :)

Nebulous.

I'm stretched out languidly, clad in jeans as always, thinking unimportant thoughts and running my hand across cold blades of grass. I want so very much. Confused thoughts meander through my head. I want so very little. Suddenly pragmatism feels like the key to eternity. Next to me you look up and wonder out loud, "Do you wish anything happened differently?", and I smile because the answer comes so effortlessly to my lips: "Fuck no."

But oh! How dreams are made, and how easily the sight of people dancing too close to each other can make one feel disillusioned by the forgettable froth that is alcohol and hormones. The flower in my hair is red and my nails are turquoise - a combination three years too late. Around me, people are dancing; couples who probably didn't know each other a few hours ago are pretzel-entwined, mouths pressed together in a way that is passionless and fuelled by inebriation. I stumble out of the mating crowd because all I want to do is breathe fresh, carefree air - free of the fumes of mind-numbing intoxication that swirl around me. 

Another late night, and muffled happiness beats dully near my heart. Do I dare allow myself this clarity? Time has sped up but my feelings - usually so sharp and concise - have dulled beyond recognition. I caught glimpses of myself in a woman's expensive leather bag, in the glimmer of a girl's strawberry-scented lipgloss, in the swish of a bohemian-looking skirt worn by the busking musician on the corner. I couldn't see my reflection clearly because my thoughts were written all over me in illegible font. Impossible to read. Why am I happy? Why is anyone happy? If I could, I'd close my eyes and reopen them to find myself back in that warm February night in '06, where we were all together and there was fireworks and laughter and unfinished homework and so much love. It was the last time I truly felt infinite. 

February here will be cold. Long walks will be abandoned for hot chocolate and warm blankets, because the bare branches will wave forlornly in the dark winter sky, and everything about the outdoors will be uninviting. Cold, unwelcoming, distant - do people readjust their personalities to the weather? It certainly seems like it. I bury myself in my sketchbook as people hide behind the earphones of their iPods, forlorn and cliqueish, wanting the people they know, wanting nothing new. Exclusion, oh, doesn't it make you feel so special. But it works for you, because you can establish your boundaries and forbid what you don't want. I say nothing, but if I could tell you anything despite the judgment in your eyes, I'd tell you that you're missing out by not getting to know me. Because you really are. 

Poetry! So simple, so unreachable. I try to write but my words falter on the page; I end up scrubbing everything out and leaving doodles everywhere - in the margins of my lecture notes, on the last pages of my foolscap paper books, drawing anything and everything that comes to mind and surprising myself at how easily my pencil moves across the page. I scatter eraser dust like confetti, hoping it'll lead me to a place I've never been before - someplace where excitement and comfort aren't mutually exclusive. Bubbles are so pretty, but if you think about it, they're so metaphorically negative - implying fragility, the impossibility of continued existence, liable to anticlimactically explode into nothingness at the merest hint of pressure. So many people want bubbles, though - albeit strong ones, where prettiness and everything being lovely can be sustained for any length of time. This will change next year, I tell myself. But what if I'm wrong? 

Ah! I see it now, I see the tip around which all my thoughts are converging. Anxiety, unreasonable happiness, unspoken wants, unmet needs. Worrying. Wanting. It's such a throwback, it really is. I've stepped into the unknown, and I've panicked and ripped open a hole into the past out of sheer bloody carelessness. Somehow I've been sidetracked onto the mistake-riddled road I stumbled onto when I was fourteen, when all I really want is to forever relive that perfect February night when I was sixteen. Not fully, necessarily - after a certain point, you can't go back to where you used to be. And I have to admit, I don't want to go back. I want to take the happiness and the enthusiasm and the vibrancy of that night and weave them all into my current existence; find new people who make me feel the same way. I hesitate to toss words like admire and respect around because that just sounds so utterly boring. I miss the craziness and laughing till my sides hurt and the good-natured verbal jousting and the perfect seamless blend of personalities and strange ideas and boldness and daring. I want all of that back. Because all that is what I need to once again feel infinite. 

Forgotten.

I'm at a party. I'm fifteen, and I'm at my friend's sixteenth birthday. I'm in a restaurant somewhere in TTDI - I can't remember the name of the restaurant, or even where it is, exactly, but the entire top floor's been reserved for us. So we can pretty much goof off the way we normally do. 

It's a comforting atmosphere. 

I don't know all of the people here. I know most, but not all. I do not know, for instance, the guy in front of me, who's admiring my necklace. 

Yes, he really is just admiring my necklace. I was even smaller and skinnier at fifteen than I am now, so I'm pretty sure he's not admiring anything else. 

I don't remember his name. I don't even remember his face all that clearly. He's a friend of the host's from...Australia? Somewhere else? Definitely not from Malaysia, though. But I remember vaguely where this conversation takes place; where we're standing (the corner of the room, just beyond the staircase, where almost everyone's congregated, for some reason) and even what he's wearing - a white button-down, and jeans. He's wearing a necklace too, a silver one, from which hangs a flat, polished piece of turquoise set in a triangular silver frame.

He's admiring my necklace because I just complimented his. What did I say? Something like, "Nice necklace, it kinda looks like mine!"

Yep. I know. Smooth. 

I can't remember what I'm wearing - jeans, probably. Some kind of T-shirt. Probably long-sleeved. But I definitely remember the necklace I'm wearing. A silver charm with funky engravings on it hangs from five intertwined pieces of black cord. Smaller silver and turquoise beads dangle from the charm. 

"Yeah, it does," he observes. 

I don't know if he's going to say more, but I speak anyway.

"'Course, mine's definitely nicer." We're both smiling politely at each other, but now I'm smirking.

His smile, in turn, grows a little more mischievous.

"Really. You think so?"

"I know so," I insist playfully.

"Nah, no way. Yours definitely isn't as nice as mine," he replies, shaking his head.

His friend - also from Australia (or...wherever), also a friend of the host's, and whose name I also can't remember - is watching the exchange with growing amusement. I turn to him expectantly. 

"Come on," I say imploringly, "you agree with me, don't you? Admit it. My necklace is definitely better." I smile ingratiatingly. 

His friend holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I refuse to get into this," he says with mock seriousness. "No way. Not getting involved."

"Dude - !" Necklace Boy protests. 

His friend holds his ground on the not-getting-involved thing, so I glance around for a nearby (I hope) ally, and grab Jun Ian's arm. 

"Need your help. Whose necklace is nicer?" I demand, without so much as a cursory 'hello'. 

Jun Ian glances from one necklace to the other. He starts to nod knowingly and I shoot him my best cajoling glance. 

"Yep. Okay. His - " Jun Ian's thumb jerks towards the other necklace, " - is definitely better."

"What?!" I cry over the ensuing laughter and hi-fiving. "Jun Ian! You suck! Your opinion doesn't count, on the grounds of suckiness. I demand a revote!"

I say something to that effect, anyway. 

"Come on," Necklace Boy, more confident now, gestures towards my other friends, who're thus far oblivious to this little competition, "Let's ask the others what they think."

I sigh reluctantly and shoot Jun Ian a glare. "Fine," I grumble, already knowing this won't end in my favour.

* * * 

It's kind of funny how memories - no matter how buried in the past - can be called up simply by a nice long walk. 

Resilient.

A little over a week left in Bristol (before I go hooooome for Christmas), and I have so much to do. 

So of course I'm blogging. Seeing as that I've got my priorities straight and all -.-

Fortunately, I've got some stuff done. I've booked all my train tickets - for leaving Bristol and coming back. I'll be back in the UK sooner than most, so all you people who get to enjoy New Year's at home, in the company of your loved ones, treasure it. I'll be on a flight back to the land of tea and rain so I can unscrew-up my jet-lagged system (probably having just adjusted to Malaysian time) before my January midsessionals. Joy. 

So in the couple or so weeks I'll be back, I'll get to - relax? Chill? Hah. 

I have four papers to study for while I'm back, plus two coursework assignments to be handed in at the end of January. Not that any of my tutors have told me to focus on my exams and do the coursework when I'm done, no. In fact, they've all suggested the same thing - start doing your coursework now, or you'll come back and the library will be empty, and you'll have no reference books for your bibliography. 

Bloody perfectionist bloody law students who're so bloody on top of things I used to be the person who was always on top of things, damn it. 

Plus, I get to lug my extremely heavy textbooks back with me to Malaysia! Yay!

...sigh. 

Before I leave, let's see:

-Finish up Constitutional tutorial work

-Finish Criminal tutorial work

-Hand in Contract essay

-Hand in Tort essay

-Try not to screw up Law&State presentation

-PACK. 

-Get books for my Property and Law&State coursework (I actually already went to the library a few days back and surprise, surprise, all the books I wanted were gone. Guess I'll have to resort to photocopying the short loan collection books, and if I miss out on photocopying something, I'm screwed! Yay!)

-Attend various social thingies - the Law Christmas Ball, PantoSoc's performance of Treasure Island, the Goldney market thing, the...other thing...oh, I forget. And I'm not entirely sure if I should attend the male-stripper thing on Sunday night, but it's for charity. So I really should.

Not really that bad, all in all, except the worryingly few choices I have for Law&State coursework references (I haven't even looked at the stupid question). 

Ah, well, back to work. I love Contract, I really do. I love my lecturer and my tutor so I will write a kickass essay that will boost my productivity levels after a completely shitty start to the week (I was hideously sick on Tuesday, an ailment which lingered well into Wednesday. As any Law student will tell you, two days of slacking off on work is REALLY STUPID.)

BYE.  

Determination.

1. There was a brief period sometime in 2008 where I used to keep my face covered with one hand while using the computer, with only my left eye uncovered. My left thumb'd be on my left cheek, with the other fingers spread out over the right half of my face. So my hand basically acted like Kakashi's mask and headband. I have no idea why I started doing that, how I kept it up, or how I never got annoyed by it. 

2. I used to be able to rewatch my favourite movies over and over. Ditto for my favourite TV series(es?). But I can't do that anymore. I can, however, still reread my favourite books over and over without getting bored :D

I also discovered that I LOVE audiobooks. I think I'd be able to listen to anything, no matter how boring, if it means I can have it read to me instead of reading it myself (I suppose Law has somewhat exhausted even my fervent love for reading). I even found a dramatic reading of that terrible Harry Potter fanfic I told everyone about at the beginning of the year, and I've actually managed to listen to over half of it even though I couldn't get past chapter 10 (each chapter is REALLY short) of the written thing. I don't think it's actually made me stupider, but there are parts that are so achingly bad that I can't help but laugh. 

3. I always reply to texts now, with the kind of lengthy replies that Amani'd adore. I never used to, because texting on my old phone was a pain. But don't expect me to keep this stellar practice up when I'm back home because I'll have to use my old phone then. 

4. Dancing with people you don't know is weird. How do people do it?

5. I have a tendency to wander through crowds while sketching out the scene in graphic novel-esque form in my head, overlaid with snippets of Batman-style narration. Too much graphic novelism? Clearly. 

Example:

Scene:

A smallish girl with messy dark hair wanders through a loud, pulsating club. Lights flicker over the otherwise dark crowd of moving bodies (fuzzy, unclear); she is the only one in focus, and looks out of place - the only person who hasn't lost herself to alcohol, drugs, or hormones. 

Dialogue, internal:

[Top part of panel] If I had any sense...

[Bottom of panel] ...I wouldn't be here.  

6. Irish accents are actually rather charming. 

7. I adore Bristol when it's sunny; because the world seems to brim with golden-tinged hope and everything feels like it's going to be all right.

I hate it when it rains. Damn it, Shirley Manson, how the hell do you stand it?!

8. I feel so lucky that I don't really miss Malaysian food that much; I rarely get cravings for food that I can only get thousands of miles away - and when I do, they usually dissipate quickly. 

9. Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that I should sit down and sort through everything that's been cluttering up my head that I haven't really dealt with. I am pretty sure that if I could do this, my writer's block'd finally clear the hell off once and for all. 

10. I keep a mental list of Times I Have Screwed Up In University in my head, and am relatively thankful that all of them are rather minor instances. They still make me cringe, though. 

11. On Tuesday, I bumped into my Contract lecturer multiple times because I got to my Criminal tutorial a little too early and had to wait in the hallway like a jobless moron with too much free time. I also bumped into him after coming out of my Constitutional tutorial earlier that day. Wonder if he reckoned I was stalking him? I had to resist the urge to ask him what was up with the whole Coke/Fanta thing, though. 

But seriously, what is up with the whole Coke/Fanta thing? For those of you non-Bristol people (which I imagine is all of you, because I haven't given out this blog address to anyone I've met here), my Contract lecturer always comes into the lecture hall, puts a can of Coke on the huge table in front of the room, and snaps it open before he begins his lecture. Once, he brought in a can of Fanta instead and the collective shock in the room was audible. But anyway. Why doesn't he just drink water or something if his throat gets dry? I would worry about gas if I drank Coke while giving a presentation (since I'm obviously not gonna be giving lectures anytime soon). And is his choice of beverage reflective of his moods? When he has Fanta, does that mean he's in a bad mood? SHUT UP I AM NOT OVERANALYSING ANYTHING I'M A LIT STUDENT SO IT'S IN MY *BLOOD*. 

12. Also, I have no idea how to greet lecturers here when I pass them in the hallway. Do I look down and seem rude? Do I chirp 'Good morning/afternoon, Professor!' like my high school attempted to drill into my head? Do I just squeak 'hello' and look away quickly? I HAVE NO IDEA. It almost makes me want to turn and hurry the opposite way if I see a lecturer coming my way >.<

13. I have been living in jeans since I got here. Fact. I have two pairs of jeans that I wear to class and another pair that I wear when I'm lounging around in my room. I haven't worn a skirt once, and now that winter's beginning to kick in and the temperature's dropped like hell, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to, not till next year. 

14. Out of all my tutors/lecturers, j'adore my Criminal tutor! He's also my lecturer, which is awesome, because some tutorial groups get TAs for tutors, I think. But yes. On Thursday, during the weekly Criminal lecture, one of the slides in the middle of the slideshow on the overhead screen had a soundclip attached with a sort of cartoony noise, and the words BAD JOKE ALERT!!! flashed across the screen. Everyone was completely startled until he got to the next slide, which was a picture with a guy outside a tent. We were discussing the mens rea for...burglary, I think? And he was all, 'The guy in the picture is not guilty of burglary...because there is no...intent.' Intent. In-tent. In tent! SO RANDOM. So lame, but so awesome, too. He got a round of applause after the lecture :)

Also I got to my first Criminal tutorial a little early (yeah shut up I get to all my tutes early because I don't like walking in the dark, s'bad enough I usually have to walk home in the dark), and as it turns out, he's been to Malaysia a bunch of times so he was telling me about that. Quite cool, quite cool. Also if I haven't told you about the sweet jar story already (hard to believe, because it feels like I've told almost everyone), ask me about it so I can tell you!

15. I have this theory about why girls love Lady Gaga so much. It's sorta half-formed in my head, because while the general idea is more or less there, I haven't really had a chance to articulate it. But if you ask me about it, I'll probably tell you :)

16. ...when I make lists like this, I like ending them on a nice round number. Not just an even number like, oh, I don't know, sixteen, but usually multiples of five. And that means I'll only be able to end this on number 20, which I think is gonna be a tad difficult 'cause I can't think of anything more to say >.<

17. I don't know whether to believe in the power of 11:11 or just put things down to random coincidences. But seriously, since when do things like that happen to me? (Sorry, this one's a bit cryptic, but I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone the story at the moment >.<)

18. Since I've had to start doing my own dishes and stuff after dinner, I've found yet another thing to become ridiculously anal about -___- I wash all my dishes, pots, pans, etc., then I dry them and put them all away before I go back to my room. I can't focus on my work otherwise. Seeeeeeriously. Insane. 

19. I LOVE DR MCNINJA. Not least because he loves BATMAN. I have yet to find out if any of the Irish students here read it (which I seriously doubt, but you never know!) and if they don't, I am fully going to make them. At least the hilarious bit about the frozen shamrocks (turned into SHURIKENS lolol) and the pirate story!

20. This is the first proper, non-depressing post I have published in AGES. Mostly because all my previous posts were composed late at night, when I was overwhelmed by work and lack of sleep and endless crappy weather and a overall sense of ennui. Assuming this one doesn't receive no feedback whatsoever (it's so depressing when that happens T.T) maybe I'll, oh I don't know...write more. I think there are nine drafts congealing in my dashboard that I haven't posted because I ran out of steam halfway/read through what I'd written and hated it/decided I was too lazy to hunt for accompanying pictures and left it.

So. Yeah. Wow. A blog post with actual content. Hot dang, it's been a while. 

Confidential.

Watch the sunrise

Say your goodbyes

Off we go

Some conversation

No contemplation

Hit the road.

A spiral-bound notebook. A white cover, dotted with pale pink, blue and green transparent bubbles.

The familiar bubbly handwriting fills part of the first page. 

Close your eyes. Recollect. Remember.  

And it comes back. Not in a flood, not in the way these things are usually described. Bit by bit. All the subtle little details, building up into a perfect replica of that particular time. 

The emotions. All memories are overlaid with a particular feeling. These are no different - a faint patina clings to them; the aimlessness, the lack of purpose, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy, the easy anger...the disjointed feeling of being apart.  

A breeze ruffles your hair. Open your eyes. 

This is it?

All that way, just to go around in one big dreary circle?

Questions within questions, you realize. 

Secrets within secrets...

You look down. Your fingers are curled around a rusted railing, one that spans the length of a dull grey breezeway. Beyond, one-and-a-half basketball courts. 

Beyond, everything you used to want. 

Before you realized how silly it all was. 

Desires within desires...

Secrets within secrets...

A grubby piece of folded paper, old, worn - frayed round the edges. Disintegrating.

Unfold it, and familiar thin, small letters cover each side. 

The neatest summary you'll ever get, of a year. 

Ah. 

Now you remember.

Look. Look at all that surrounds you. Everything that's here, now. See all that you have. 

See all that you want now, and how different it is. And how different it...isn't, really. 

Maybe someday you'll look back and realize how silly all this is. 

But the real question is...

How long will it take you, this time?

Truths within truths.

Secrets within secrets...

I know I don't know you

But I want you

So bad.

Everyone has a secret

But can they keep it?

Oh, no, they can't...

Cathartic.

I don't know how to explain it. 

How do you tell if you're doing the right thing? When your hands are moving mechanically across a keyboard, when your eyes are tired from thick chunks of overtly wordy text, when your brain is fuzzy from trying to extract meaning from seemingly endless dry meandering, when you're toiling, slowly, excruciatingly, up the discouraging rocky mounds of progress...

...that's how. 

Stay in perspective. 

Distracted. It's so easy to get distracted. 

It's so easy to forget. 

Forget why you're here, forget what it is you're working for, forget why you even want to be better.

And when what you really want seems so far away, when you know you're a few steps down the ladder from where you could be, it's so easy to get discouraged. 

It's so easy to feel lonely. 

It's so easy to feel lonely in this strange new place full of strange new people that you literally have no history with, no connection to whatsoever - nothing in common. Nothing at all. No friends-of-friends, no hey-you-used-to-be-in-my-tuition-class, no wow-you're-so-and-so's-cousin, nothing. Blank canvases. Sounds enticing, in a way. You can be whoever you want to be. Reinvent yourself. Wear whatever you want to, and nobody will think you look like a poseur. 

But then you think of the work. The tedious, endless, seemingly insurmountable struggle. 

And you can't help but feel tired. Tired at the prospect of making new friends, of sifting through the usual top layer of mere acquaintances and occasional lunch buddies to the deep-down, friends-for-life connections that everyone older than you has been telling you you'll make in university. Of having to work out who you can trust and who you can't. Who'll be there when you need them and who'll ditch you so they won't have to deal with your problems.

Instead of having your usual safety network of friends you can trust and rely on, you suddenly have to build up new relationships all over again. Which is no easy feat. Especially when you think about the work. All that work...

That's how it gets so easy to ignore the balance.

It's so easy to withdraw into yourself. To throw yourself into your work, to forget about friends and fun and just push yourself to become better. To finally, finally get where you want to be. 

It's so easy to look back at What Might Have Been and What I Could Have Done and feel regret. 

I guess that's why keeping things in perspective is so important. 

Stay in perspective.

It'll keep you going when nothing else can.