Another break's coming on while one's rounding up. Whilst the undergraduate's plight is begining, the school kid's flight does too. While the uncluttering and the reduction of rust starts,so does the joyous jaunting of schooling passed. The daunting days of white shirts, green pants and black hairs flee as sudden as my sleepy daze in a lecturer's gaze. 'Discipline' enforced in its most technical term are now no longer observable on the streets. All that will abound are the blonde browns of our local Golden Boys: Malaysian idles wandering and wondering at game parlours and 'unyuppy' cybercafes. The even younger ones will be play-acting with such imagination and talent that would make Keanu Reeves, Colin Farell and Orlando Bloom blush with an undignified shame, even though hootings and shriekings are mostly all that emotes. On the other side of the fence, a side which is much greener from experience as some might say, the stomping and cutting of lalang left to grow in the mental field continues. However revamping the scholarly, academically aimed mind is harder than eating your greens, as I may sway. Inertia blocks momentum from developing. Loathing puts labour in a bad light. And procrastination, although just as bad as castration, pushes the lamp further and the bed closer. The arduously aching thoughts of your lesser, tween queen kins frolicking with a freed feet are as pervasive as the wailing voices from sczhophrena. Their gain will be your bane as you lapse in and out of your lecture halls. Thoughts aplomb of their cheers for cuti-cuti will haze that study maze further. But not to worry, for the most mundane tasks will prove to be the best cure for holiday hangovers. Soon the generic, dull drills of everyday campus life will bring back that familar flavour of receptive blandness. The cold showers. The long strides. The even colder and longer lectures. The shoving of crap, not only out of your bowels in the toilet,but also into your gut at the canteen. All these will remind you and 're-deaden' your vacation synapses from transmitting. Yet, in spite of the broken will of this lazy hack, there are still do many who in faith transmit a message of joy and hope uncomprehensible even to a spinster's sly. During tis season to be jolly (with all certainty an irony...hey that rhymes!) his voice will reside with those whose rise to greatness is due to a 'lack of proffesional training'. A party of sorts will be held at the Dewan on this December 12th. A remarkable stage to an even more noble cause. Wheither it may be to cushion the blow of coming back to university, or the futility of obtaining four flats, or a girlfriend, or friends, or a fictional Santa's warm and caring love (BTw, 'warm and caring love', even not from Father Xmas, is not real either) , it certainly does smooths that oh-so-human path. (except for those whose lifestyles require a change of the former 'or's with 'ands' in the previous sentence.) A bit of a byte: Seeing Lee Syiong singing would be a good morale boost. Hearing it on the other hand will produce the opposite effect. However, the vocal vibes from trakea being choked shall not be a problem for the majority of us undergraduates as we are already deaf from blabering lectures. Lee Syiong on stage and off key is the ultimate panache for those campus blues. So here I go, as well as another 30,000 (a rough, very rough estimate), marching back , back to university.

It was and still is. A Bush presidency, this time no longer plagued by the issue of popular legitimacy. With a significant and comfortable majority, the sins and memories of Florida 2000 are bent to be overcomed. The magic number was 3.5 million. 3.5 million more for Bush than Kerry. 3.5 million more for a perceived just war leadership than a reluctant 'just for kerry'. 3.5 more for forgetfulness or forgiveness than forsakeness for a misleading reason to occupation. 3.5 million more undisturbed than unconvinced of his economic policies, his role in the growing deficit and his tax cut for the rich. 3.5 million more frightened of terrorism than its handling. 3.5 million more for the centre-right, and those pretending to be in its pragmatic grasp. Even among the presence of much more pressing issues, one came up to define this round, this bout, dominating the rest with a zealous demand and drive which only a deep,intense belief on its value could bring;moral state of america. By beating up the Bush base, Karl Rove did the unexpected, or at least unanticipated. Social conservatives and evangelicals poured into the polls, garnering a straight, coherent, organized punch against an ambigious protest movement. Such muscle pushed and pulled in the Bush vote further and deeper into the marginally Red and Blue and those critically swing states. to be continued...

The US election just passed, with the counting coming to an end. Only left in tow is that crucial Ohio, as well as Iowa and New Mexico. Final turn out so far: Kerry 252, Bush 254. To win, one needs 270 electoral votes.Despite that, Bush wins the popular vote by half a million. Ohio, been in sight as individually the most important state by both sides, is the kingmaker in this bout. With about a gain of around 23 to the victor,it obviously takes him beyond that line to legitimacy. The current tallies stand with Bush leading with just a 2% majority. However, that 2%, while being a small margin of difference, compromises a large number of votes, around 100k. The only ballots untouched are those considered provisional: votes contraversially considered ineligable. A large turnout was registered with 60% hearing and bearing heeds of its importance this time around. Informally, Bush is expected to get his second term. Although Ohio is still officially in count with its provisional votes still untampered, those votes are likely to be reduced to a pile which is incapable to compensate those 100k votes for Bush. Not to mention that a significant volume of them would probably be considered cracked. So, what made Bush tick this time? Unlike 2000? Well, wait for tommorow for analysis. This global citizen is dozing offfffffffffffffffffffffffff

The Break has set in. The paper chase finally came to a halt, albeit a temporary one. At last, studies' chains are off, sending thousands scampering around in search of relief and release. Some went back to kampung galore, while others brought ahead plans in hand. Yet all aim for that sacred lax where both body and mind are just left untaxed, unrestrained from the labour of constant assessment. As summarized in this short stanza: Semester's spent and stress's vent, as sanity is retrieved and rest is reprieved. In full joy, we subsequently catched up with time. No more deadlines ad mist. No more classes amiss. Just a moment of us being at peace with our surroundings and, most importantly, of ourselves. Doubts, doubts of our abilities and our worth, whether of our competance or our complexion, are in no respute in these periods of calm. The ego's aback, the male wihin's aside. Layers are peeled, and what's bare is that sensitive, fragile self we were afraid to show or ,at worst, explore. "Before exams, tough-skinned orc pions we are, 'work work' After it, we turn back to being human, weak and meek"-Thierry 'French Toast costs 50 sen, and so is my philosophy' Chang. Being our true selves can be tough, and it helps to let loose in such moments for relax.

With just days ahead and the months behind, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. It is now down to a few nights. Countable on my available digits. Time seemed to slow down, to take on meaning as a sudden realisation of its reprecussions came in. Bullet time with a touch of zen. Yet the bygone months felt fleeting. Perhaps that is what happens when time dilates. The past appears illusionary, fast forwarded at 16X times normal speed. Or was it just because of the day dreaming I did during all those lectures? Wanderings are after all an everyday wonder. Along together with this new awareness comes the confusing screams of its monologues. How peculiar. Realization begets more 'mental noise' Szchizophrenia in the flex? Repetitious strings of cheesy 'movie name'-ish phrases resonate within my cerebral cortex;'CGPA 2.0:The Hunt for The Brood Burden', 'Study and Hatch" and of course 'Bujang Lapok'. Clique threats with a tone of class prejudice rose up, to become prevalent if not acceptible in my phyche. Amplifying this is the sober remindings of a stint promoting a self acclaimed 'health product', in the process of which my (mental) health is dangerously compromised. With just days ahead in wait, with the months behind in waste, the first semester's pomp finale isnt any simple fling. However, the inersial grindings of loath ensumes to engulf all those witch threatens its existence. In spite of the tweaks, the thoughts of dread and, of course, guilt, a refined sense of 'boh chap' and deliberate ignorance counters any attempt at action. Someone may quote pain as gain, but I say gain is pain.

The library chair. A sturdy hack of processed cheap timber compromised to an even cheaper budget. Ergonomically unsound, its fond identification as a ‘chair’ by the masses has tricked many into its trappings. Soon enough, I too was hashed by this ultimate deception. Its shapely edges began to stab almost decisively as I place my buttocks and back on and against its polished planks.Before long, its blunt corners nudge deep into my flabby flesh. Cholesterol dampens none of its tight thrust into the surrounding meat, especially those around my hips. Yet in between pressured backs and pressed bottoms, the mind was pulled deep into the most elegant of intellectual frolics. A hard cover was placed on the soft wood table top in front of me. My literate self was ready for anything with a secured Romanised footing. If not the alphabet song and the calling out of individual synonyms in sequence would do fine as a guide. Claims and critism alike were jolted down with a touch of Indian ink, printed on pieces of modern papyrus that were sewn together as a slab of data known as the book. My eyes bare witness to their boastful assertions as my vision suffers only from a mere case of terminal short sightedness. Short distances, such as that from the kornea to a book, are still competent. I took it all in a go. The sentences. The words. The letters. Yet, something was amiss. A hollowed aftertaste, similar to those emotions after an orgasmic-less love or in a man’s lust was felt. Then it hit. The coalescing of intelligent scribbling makes no sense! Just like poetry, it was explicitly implicit! It flowed, my flawed cognitive as it stutters amid abstracts. Concepts seem alien, what more their degrees of affiliation! The iceberg bears none, except for its tip. 'Yang tersirat' in metaphors, imagery, antropomorphisms and the likes were hidden under the deep blue artic sea, jealously guarding the secrets of unscrupluous academic blabber. In an attempt at gathering some hope, I begin to discern, to unravel a pattern of thought for a more systematic method of understanding. The colluded mechanisms of the theoretical universe surely must allow a peep for the humble eye. As it turns out, the mysterious workings of the mind, well at least mine’s, hark on simplicity and a five second attention span. Thus from the former the only direct course of action would be to tediously deduce and to fragmentise ideas to understandable components. What a brilliant plan! My ego was restored! I took it in a stash, only to realize later after a series of applications that the latter ensues for surrender in the end. A slight strain was felt. In order to relieve it, the torso was tilted upward. The spine, stiff from a prolonged pose, was finally relieved from the bow noticed during long readings. A crackle was heard. The sound of air gushing out from relieved pockets released much accumulated stress. to be continued...

In light of a recent incident that is making news nationwide here, it would be worth highlighting some words from a fellow blogger. "Justice is still but far when a high court judge can make a 'mistake' that cost a man his freedom? This is not a matter of us humans making mistakes, but it is a question of what made a human being willing to make 'mistakes'. This is not a matter of justice but a matter of power where justice can be put under the influence of power to execute injustice. It takes a man of power to endure and fight back tirelessly for his justice. Without that power to generate resources, a normal condemned person would be condemned far longer Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice." -gotterdamug "Sometimes when power corrupts, it takes power to fight corruption, not justice". (For grammatical soundness, this quote was edited. However, much of the message intended by the blogger was left intact )