The Classmate.

Many a time have I come across an abandoned blog: it may have contained a good number of posts from the past before its owner abruptly stopped posting in it for one reason or another; or it may have contained only a few posts, suggesting that the blog was nothing more than a mere flight of fancy for its author.

I, for one, intend to keep this blog alive by posting at least one entry every month. I don't know how many people actually read this blog, and I thank you if you do, but writing here is in fact more towards my own benefit rather than that of others. This arrangement ensures that I write something, anything, at least once a month so that my writing skills don't gradually fade to black.

Now, having said that, you may notice that I posted exactly zero posts in the month of December. There are reasons for that, and the short version is that I was a bit busy.

"I was a bit busy" is, of course, an understatement, but "a bit" is shorter than "terribly", "horrendously" and other words that would have described my situation during the month more accurately.

During the first three weeks of December, I was struggling to finish my second semester at Manipal. Unlike the previous semester, most of the work was done in the closing weeks instead of being evenly spread throughout. My solitary classmate and I were practically swamped with tests, assignments and replacement classes during this semester's final two or three weeks alone after relatively kicking our heels since day one. Indeed, some of the assignments were completed so late that they were handed in during final exams week.

Never before had I come across such a hectic end to a semester, which wasn't helped by the fact that my classmate, and only companion to share in this particular adversity, wasn't exactly a dream partner whom I could trust to perform excellently during groupwork, or at least do a decent enough job with it. Maybe I just expect too much from her, I don't know.

We had a kind of heart-to-heart session one afternoon, after she missed a crucial day of class due to some personal problems. I guess we kind of understand each other a little better now, and I at least get why she is who she is as a student. That doesn't mean that she has to stay that way, however.

The good news is that we still have two more years together, and there's plenty of time for both of us to improve. The bad news, though, is that it's only going to get tougher from here on out, so that improvement has to increase at an exponential rate.

Anyhow, we both somehow managed to complete all our tests and assignments on time. We then grappled with our six final exam papers, which were, to make another understatement, a bit difficult. Once again, we made it through, although the two of us carried different emotions right after the end of the final paper: I was happy that our ordeal was finally over whereas she was deflated - maybe she felt that she hadn't done all that well, I suppose. However, being the little ray of sunshine that I am (a statement which may seem odd to some people who know me, I know), I told her to lighten up as what's been done has been done, and there was nothing we could do about it anyway.

Later that day, we went along with a bunch of other students from the university on a trip to an Indian orphanage in Rembau. We'd both been there before, albeit on separate occasions. During my first visit there, I had gone in a baju melayu. That didn't stop some of the kids there from trying to communicate with me in Tamil, however. It was probably the first instance in my life where someone had mistaken me for an Indian.

Some of us were given so-called mentees for a one-hour mentoring session, and mine was a 17-year-old boy. That was just as well, as I'd have no idea what to do if my mentee had been a much younger kid. I'm not really the type that could host one of those kids' shows on television.

As I talked with the boy, I discovered that he was a true gem. He had been adopted years ago by a pair of New Zealanders, both of whom were engineers and travelled the world a lot. They had once sent him to some sort of programming course in their home country for about three months, and now he could hack into computer systems and stuff like that. He harbored dreams of becoming a biomedical engineer; I didn't even know what that was. What I did know was that this kid was exceedingly intelligent and had vast potential. I even found myself slightly intimidated by this realization.

Not knowing how to handle his overwhelming passion of engineering, a subject which I generally have next to no interest in, I called a university-mate, who was an engineering student and happened to be passing by, to come help me out and talk about the subject with him. Needless to say, I was little more than a spectator after that. The two of them even exchanged email addresses and other contact details after that, so the mentorship of the boy had effectively been transferred. 

On the way back to Nilai after all that was over, I briefly sat next to my classmate on the bus (I say briefly because the person sitting next to me kept changing every now and then). She was in a much brighter mood than she had been in earlier that day, and told me that she'd found it difficult to leave the kids and the orphanage behind. I felt a bit smug upon hearing this, as she'd initially not wanted to go and had only gone because her best friend had asked her to. I had helped to secure her seat on the bus.

Anyway, our third semester starts in February, which means that I have the whole month of January off. I'd asked my classmate to teach me Tamil during that time - she'd actually agreed to do it at first after I told her that I'd buy her lunch after every class as payment. This arrangement would be good for the both of us, as I'd be learning a new language and she'd be working on her presentation skills, which I must say are in dire need of an upgrade. She'd told me that she would be spending her time getting bored to death at home anyway, so why not, I figured. However, some stuff turned up with her family and she won't really be free this month after all, so the plan had to be cancelled. Guess I won't be seeing her until February, then.

The start of my third semester will mark the beginning of my second year at Manipal. I hope to make it a good one, even better than my first.

Oh, I haven't talked about what I did in the second half of December yet. Well, I went for umrah, which will be detailed in another post (or two). Until then, this is me signing off. Happy belated new year, people.

Penultimate.

Busy days for me, as the penultimate week of my second semester comes to an end. Next week I'll have five tests, one presentation and at least four assignments (one of which is thankfully already complete) due. I don't attribute all this purely to my procrastination (although that did, of course, play a part); there were plenty of other factors beyond my control that led to everything being backed up to this extent.

As is the nature of the universe during times like this where immense concentration on my studies is required, I am finding myself constantly distracted by other things, like my wanting to write this blog post, for instance. The upcoming weekend gives me temporary respite from the hecticness of university life, although I know I should be filling my so-called days of rest with extensive studying. 

It's hardly comforting to remind myself that I am still in my second semester, and things aren't exactly going to get easier from here. I can still find time play video games, stare into space, and carry out my daily internet-aided procrastination. I've been told that I'm supposed to write a research paper in my final year, and I can hardly imagine how that'll be for me.

The good thing about all this chaos, though, is that it keeps my brain working. Rather than just stagnating, brain juices just seem to flow furiously and seamlessly through my head. This comes in rather handy for when I'm doing my work, although it's a slight pity that I can't be using all this creative energy to start writing stories again. I am rather tempted to at times, though.

I suppose I should be thankful for all this. I mean, I did kinda ask for it, anyway. A lack of things to do besides merely attending lectures earlier in the semester left me feeling bored and itching to get to work, and I remember wondering if all that free time from cancelled lectures and postponed quizzes would come back to bite me in the bottom at some point.

Well, I guess I'm finding out now, and all I can say is that it's not a situation that I (or my one and only classmate, for that matter) particularly enjoy. Yes, I did ask for work, but not all at frickin' once. It doesn't even end with the final week of the semester either: my final exams involve six papers in five days. That may have been acceptable back in primary school, but it's hardly ideal when the subjects you're taking involve things a bit more complex than basic fractions and state flags.

The situation was hardly avoidable, though. I'm to go for umrah in Mecca in the week following finals week, so I had to request that all my papers be scheduled in the same week. I wouldn't have had to if the semester hadn't been extended by one week either; that extension was due to the ridiculous amount of public and campus holidays we've had recently.

Anyway, I'm going to be so relieved when this semester is over. Due to the management wanting to standardize the academic calendar for all the six current intakes of degree students, my third semester will be starting in early February, meaning that I'll get an extra month off to go with my three weeks of semester break. I'll probably still be in and around the MIU campus anyway, as my lecturers tell me that some 'soft skills' courses will be offered.

Well, I'm glad I've gotten all that out, as I haven't really been talking to anyone outside Manipal much recently. Congratulations to you if you've managed to make it to this point, and thanks for reading.

No Excuses.

Over a month has passed since my last post, and with it, a whole bunch of other stuff that I could write about.

I could write about the trip to an Indian orphanage in Rembau, and how being in the Rembau area invoked within me feelings of nostalgia, and how I was touched by how happy the kids there were with their lot, despite it not being much to shout about.

I could write about the surprise party for my birthday that had been held a week before the actual date, and how I experienced that feeling of utter awkwardness of not knowing what to do while everyone else was singing 'Happy Birthday', and how that led me to absent-mindedly cut my cake before blowing out the candles.

I could write about how an unexpected call from a former schoolmate currently studying in Canada came to wish me a happy birthday (albeit a belated one), and how I was so pleasantly surprised by the whole thing that I was probably red in the face for the next half hour or so.

I could write about how I went home every weekend for the past month or so to attend some seminars, where the speakers were some of my parents' friends from Nigeria, and how I learnt a whole bunch of stuff. Oh, and how we had a grand dinner at a fancy Arabian restaurant after all that was over.

I could write about how I was in an exceptionally good mood last week, and how, despite me being exposed to some so-called 'office politics' due to some conflicts regarding one of the subjects I've been taking for this past semester, it refused to be significantly tainted.

But no. I'm not going to write about any of that.

Wait, what? I just did? Oh, well. Anyway, we'll move on to the main point of my post now.

My mother recently completed her PhD after four long, hard years. Her convocation was held at Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (UKM), Bangi last Saturday, and I and three of my eldest younger siblings went with her to celebrate the occasion. We might have brought some of the younger ones along as well, but they were all too young to be allowed into the event hall.

The place was huge; my guess would be that it could hold a few thousand people. It was my first time in such a hall, and I wondered how it would feel to be sitting for an exam in such a cavernous building. I mean, it was so big that it could hold all the people graduating at the convocation ceremony that day, as well as their invited guests.  

So yeah, a whole lot of people received their scrolls that day. So many, in fact, that a good number of spectators decided to catch a few Z's while the convocation was going on. Some people even managed to get their snoozing caught on camera, to be broadcasted onto giant screens where everyone in the hall could see them.

I should also mention that the scrolls were given out by the Chancellor of UKM, who was none other than the Yang Di-Pertuan Besar (YDP) of Negeri Sembilan. His face largely contained a look of disinterest throughout the entire ceremony; but then again, maybe that's just his regular expression. Nevertheless, I found him and his overall manner to be absolutely fabulous. I can't remember how long my brother and I spent discussing how awesome his hair and moustache were. My sisters, too, seemed to be equally impressed. 

To top things off, the state song of Negeri Sembilan was played at the beginning and the end of the convocation. I honestly enjoyed singing it, as it had been a while since I'd last done so. I've always liked the song anyway, so yeah.

We couldn't get the YDP to pose for a picture with us, unfortunately.

Anyhow, after all that was over, I started to wonder exactly how much of a struggle it was for my mother to somehow complete her PhD (with distinction!) while raising ten kids, coping with office politics, and volunteering in NGOs, among other things. And then I thought of my own studies as a bachelor's degree student, and just how relatively petty my own obstacles to success were.

It just goes to show that where there's a will, there's a way. I shouldn't be allowing trivial matters to disrupt my mission to maintain my 4.0 CGPA for this current semester, as well as all the ones that come after it. I need to really dig deep within myself, and maximize the potential that I've always known was there all along.

No excuses, old boy. No excuses.