In half a blink, week eight has already came and went, leaving us with a disillusioned sense of freedom. But think again. This is MCM after all. Things have been transpiring so rapidly that we didn't even halt to think, to think graduation is merely three months ahead. Whoa, what the hell?

The mishmash of emotions have also made me feel slightly bipolar, and I would like to attribute that to the fact that I had been incredibly intelligent when I chose my electives this semester -- the worst and the best module in my three years in school. If I ever, ever I grow up (or my kids for that matter) to become remotely like a certain lecturer, I will consider my life an utter failure and a bloody waste. How does one smile without her eyes, how does one turn out to be such a two-faced bitch? That woman gives me chills, seriously. Book Writing & Publishing, on the other hand, has been nothing short of amazing. 

Still, I'm grateful for the people around me now after being away for six months. I haven't even updated much about my internship with the best colleagues, or California Challenge with 21 other wonderful scholars. But I will, some time in the future. Till then, thank you -- to those who've stuck around, because you guys make even the most screwed up things seem like a trivial joke, thank you -- to those who turned their backs, because you've taken with you the kind of plague that I no longer need.

And most of all, thank You -- for entering my life at an impeccable time. I might not know you all that well, but I'm definitely much closer than I ever was. I don't have a clue how this will turn out, but we'll see. 

What is this incessant need to be tied down, to be worn out? To let emotions triumph over rationality, to drop everything you believe in and race into a smog of uncertainty? To feel completely asphyxiated and be not only okay, but thankful, when you emerge?

Do you want to break out of this callousness so much, even if the only way to feel is to hurt? 

For a loud communication student, I cannot believe how inept I am at expressing myself sometimes. I was frozen, because I was caught off-guard. You have no idea how many times I've beat myself up over that today. Did I just screw up, again? 

Or like my Book Writing & Publishing lecturer mentioned, the burial of my real emotions obscure my intentions to others. But I like the idea of constructing something that makes sense only to yourself, and be perfectly fine if the outsiders' interpretations completely deviate from its original meaning. 

Perhaps it's selfish, but I really like expressing myself without expressing myself.