Inside is all kosong.

Goodness me, I believe it has been a little less than a year since I last updated (not counting the semi-emotional note in facebook)! Plenty of things have occured, and I’m sure you’re absolutely dying to hear all about them. First of all, I proclaim that I am not dead, and everything about my anatomy is absolutely fine although I wouldn’t mind NOT having a super-fast metabolism. I can’t get fat, and without fat, I can’t build any muscles no matter how many times I do weights, although the ab crunches have produced some sort of a pseudo eight-pack.

Second year at university has proven slightly less challenging believe it or not. Sure, there are more assignments, but I’m actually free to do my own research at home as four out of five of my modules this term require me to submit an assessed essay which accounts for one hundred percent of the marks. I’m by no means an exceptionally smart person, and I managed to scoop up a 68% aggregate for my first term, which satisfies me to some extent, but also disappoints on the other because another 2% would have got me a first-class. That’s equivalent to an A* in the A-level’s new system for the younger years who are reading which is quite unlikely because who in their right mind, in the prime of their youth, would actually read the ramblings of someone who’s actually become an *gasp* adult?! Despite the fact that two years ago I was still bumbling along in sixth form, invoking the wrath of Physical Geography teachers, I seem to have added to my wide expanse of knowledge in basic skills. Culinary and general people skills seem to have improved for the better ever since I’ve been thrust out into the wild wide world. And also paintballing skills have made a turn for the win. I now see the fear in my opponents’ faces as I lay down a line of coloured balls in their general direction. It’s beautiful really, when you know defeat is not in your general consensus. You don’t even bother to duck as you hear the whistle of those plastic balls filled with vegetable oil narrowly missing your head. Which reminds me, I really need to get the buttstock of my marker replaced pronto. It seems to have broken off during a particularly violent skirmish which involved two foul language spitting scallies and me lighting them up three feet away and them not liking it. Well, I’ve duct-taped the stock, and it seems to hold so far, but for how long I don’t know.

Lately, I’ve taken to actually reading my course readings. Surprising, isn’t it? I used to base all my exam preparation on the miniscule content of lecture slides without even a decent sitting down of reading. That was first year, though, and I came out of that the worse for wear. Failures and resits are something I most certainly would not want to carve my way through again. Especially further mathematics! Ugh, how I loathed (and still do) that module. Nearly did my head in, but then again it was just differentiation and integration with a cocktail of Hessians and minimum points. I’ve just finished one of my assessed essays due for submission on the 20^th April, and I think I’ve made good time for that deadline. Now time to start on the other assessed essays. I feel guilty to some extent because I haven’t been attending a lot of lectures, instead choosing to bask in my room, borrowing Chun Wai Sin’s internet periodically, and downloading the lecture slides off of the social sciences intranet. I guess it is true; you do pay for the piece of paper that has your name on it at the end of three short years. I have however been attending tutorials, except for a few which I absolutely refuse to because of the absolute crappiness of the presentation of the tutors. Don’t get me wrong; I like most of them, but this one tutor in Politics of Development doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing. What she does is she gives us a “topic” to go research during the week, and the next week, we voice our views about it. Fair enough, but one does expect some feedback for the effort that has been undertaken. But NO, she sits there like a mute toad, not even uttering a word of response, if you don’t count “I think that was very well done” every single time. Everyone else, though, fortunately, is competently if not exceptionally good at what they do. Tutors are PhD students who volunteer some of their time during the week to give support to undergraduate student during tutorials. It is of no surprise that some of them are only in for the dosh, but most of them are alright. The university seems to be turning into a money making business. Business would be the most appropriate word to describe it. I’m no activist or anything like that, but such an obvious issue presenting itself in front of me cannot be ignored just like that.

Besides that, I am very happy with where I am now, and I’m doing what I like doing: Development Economics. I’d like to think Mr. Nick Weaver, my personal tutor played a huge role in my choice of specialising in Economics and Development Studies this year. His course last year “Introduction to Development Economics” really got my heart (and mind) into this particular discipline of economics. Someday, I dream of working in the United Nations, making loads of cash and helping countries out. Of course, the critics will go “Oh, but the UN is hypocritical, another veil for the foul foreign policies of the USA and other developed countries!” but I say you can’t make an omelette without breaking the egg. Pareto efficiency tells us that an individual cannot be better off without another individual being worse off. A similar rule is present in Development Economics, although I can’t remember the exact quote and page of the book.

My course modules this year are a healthy mix of politics, sociology and economics. The most interesting module by far is Racism and Ethnicity in the UK, where the course examines the notion of the definition of “Race” as an existence biologically and sociologically. According to the course, there is no such thing as Race, because to be of one “race”, you would have to be biologically different from the human “race”. Anyone for an extra ear? Or perhaps an extra hand, yes I think I would like that. Scratch plenty more other places I would be able to.

Another interesting module is Globalisation and Developing Societies. This module really ties in with the Politics of Development module in the areas where globalisation affects the development of “third-world countries” and also the study of Development theory as well as Agri-business (See Thomas Maxwell for more info). The method of assessment for this course is a 66% assessed essay and 33% tutorial report, which I am the self-elected group leader for. Hey, don’t ask me why; the rest of the team members just nodded their heads when I laid out the plans for the 4000-word report. We’re doing a report on MNCs (multinational corporations) and Child Labour in Developing countries. So far, we’ve managed to work well for a team, not counting a couple absentees, but they’ve emailed me of all people with the reasons for their not being there. We meet every Thursday at 10am, which has proven to be a problem in the past which has been solved by imbibing copious amounts of caffeine in the form of Red Bull and Rockstar, boy don’t I love the orange flavour that Rockstar has. I think this will turn out well, to be honest. We’ve got a team of eager young students who are prepared to bring out the best in themselves!

But enough of boring you with trivial university stuff. After all, it’s only my future we’re talking about here; let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Accommodation this year has been slightly less enjoyable than last year. In one hand I have the company of Chun Wai Sin and his girlfriend Chew Yeu Ting, in the next room, but on the other hand we seem to have forest boars living upstairs (I exclude pigs because pigs are actually very clean creatures) who never seem to be physically able to clean their own things in the kitchen. I know I shouldn’t be nasty, but there’s this one Spanish guy living upstairs by the name of Alberto, and by golly, I don’t know whether he’s got a maid in Spain or something, but he treats this place as if it were some sort of garbage dump! He seems to lack kitchen utensils, and therefore resorts to using our utensils, including my prized Japanese sashimi knives, one which has gone missing to my great anger. Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but this guy never washes up! One morning I come down and find ALL my knives scattered everywhere with the traces of pasta and onions on them, and of course Mr. Spanish’s saucepan has pasta in it, as well as my plate which has the traces of guess... PASTA! On it! And the thing that really, really ticks me off is that he never admits to it. He goes and says “Oh, no I didn’t use this, I didn’t use that...” in very bad English, and we all know that he does it. I remember a few months ago he actually IN COLD BLOOD stole Chun Wai’s porridge that his girlfriend made for him. God damn it! He actually stole MY BOWL, used MY SPOON, and picked the porridge from CHUN WAI’S wok, and brought it upstairs. When confronted, he said that someone had stolen his chicken, and stood there as if that was the answer to all the problems that plagued the flat (and even the world for that matter). I later found out that I had mistaken his chicken for mine, and offered my own chicken to him, but regardless. If someone stole my beef, and you happened to be cooking beef that day, would it be right for me to just steal your beef and eat it with your utensils and bowls? Also, things have gone missing from the kitchen e.g. mugs and bowls, only to come back weeks later unwashed in the sink with the traces of pasta as well as that nasty chocolate drink that he prepares late at night.

I know I sound like a little bitch for saying all these things, but I dunno, it’s really got to my nerves. Also in the wee hours of the morning, he watches some Spanish show and puts the volume up really loudly so I get awakened by frantic Spanish chattering by some excitable man in a TV show as well as Spanish music, which is rather nice to hear, but not at 2am when you’re trying to get some sleep. To pay him back, I’ve taken to blasting Nightwish, Dreamtheater, Metallica and Children of Bodom during the day when I know he’s sleeping. He came in at about 5pm today and said that “Someone told you to turn it down.”

Yeah right, because other people are as weird as you and sleep at 5pm in the afternoon. I played it cool and said “Yeah sure”, turned it down a notch and continued typing my assessed essay. The rest of the day passed pretty alright, had a good dinner, and now I’m starting to prepare material for tomorrow’s meeting about the tutorial report. I hope everyone’s done what they need to do and turn up without major incident.

Got a Facebook message from Jefri Abdul-Rahman, who informed me that he would be staying in London during mid-April. So yes of course I went and booked a train down to London for about £20 and booked a return for the amazing price of £9! Messaged James Bradley on MSN but he didn’t reply, wonder what he’s up to anyway. I hear he’s trying out for the Olympics or something major like that.

I’ve just come down with some sort of mini-flu thing which I’m sure Menzie Kee has passed to me after I visited him for a fraction of a minute the day before. Oh well, at least it is not rabies. And I also successfully organised his paintball event on Wednesday, should be a day of coloured fun with vegetable oil and my paintball marker.

Kit Klitoris Perry may be coming down later today (Monday) to join us in Manchester. He’s in some sort of aircraft carrier purportedly headed toward Newcastle, and may get a train down to f33d in badminton. Okay, time to get to bed. By the way, today’s match (MCFC vs Sunderland) was absolutely crap, and to top it off my sickly self was ticked off by my manager for taking off my tie during the debrief, therefore resulting in incomplete uniform. Cunt.