[Issues]
by YBLalat

Issue: Chronic Caffeine-dependency.
Since the first day of Ramadan, I haven’t been able to get myself up from the comfort of my bed and blanket and go to class. My day now starts slightly an hour or two after noon. Any classes that start before that, well, will be skipped without guilt. Yes, skipping classes is now officially my favorite guilty pleasure. Before that, it was picking my nose in public. And before that, it was looking at Japanese girls of miniature stature with heavy bags on their backs running around across the EE mall hurriedly from the view of 4th floor lounge of the ME building. (Once, I saw this all-familiar figure running frantically across the landscape of the EE mall like a small schoolgirl back from her mengaji class. Guess who?) Anyway, it’s been almost a week or so now since I last saw myself at school. The problem is that I am used to gulping down at least 2 or 3 mugs of black coffee to wake myself up in the morning before going to class. But now, it's Ramadan. From years of experience with regards to caffeine, I am known to function best in the morning and late at night with a constant supply of caffeine nearby, whether it’s a mug of coffee or a bottle of Coke. Now, even if I drank as much of it at sahur, I would still not make it to class. No matter how I tried, I would eventually fall asleep on the couch with my towel wrapped around my head. (I realize now that I have evolved from a morning person to an evening person over the course of past years.) If my class starts at 10 in the morning, then the effect of the 5 o’clock caffeine would be infinitesimal by then. However, if I took my daily dosage of coffee at 8 or 9 o’clock, then I wouldn’t be whining to you now then, would I?

Issue: Balik Kampung (after 2 Rayas spent alone).
Last Friday, the airline ticket that I bought over the ‘Net for my journey home to Malaysia arrived in my mailbox. The journey was set to be a Minneapolis-Singapore-KL trip, with a 3-hour stop at Narita, Japan. The departure date was set to be on the 23rd of December this year and the return flight would be on the 21st of January next year. All in all, nearly a month spent back home. The price of the ticket was a fucking expensive one since I planned the journey home later than scheduled, but anyhow, all is well now, I guess. The only crappy part of the whole trip is that I will be arriving at the Singapore airport sometime around midnight, but the next available connecting flight to KL will depart only at 7 in the morning. In simpler words, I will be sleeping on the pavement of the terminal like a beggar for the whole night. I phoned me Mum and told her of the itineraries and that I will not be bringing home much stuff as luggage for this trip. In fact, I told her that I will only be bringing my class backpack and a jacket. She said ‘Cool’ and so I think I don’t need to buy her gifts or anything. Not only this is best for me to not carry heavy luggage around on the trip; I don’t have to deal with the Customs officer with regards to luggage check. Less time for the red tape, more time for the journey, I would say. I hope the experience will be well worth the costly pay.

Issue: The Truth Kicked me Balls Hard One Night.
Last night, the three of us roommates, the other two being already asleep, had a decent talk about girls. The conversation was initially on something about food and how delicious they are but then somebody said something that digressed the whole path of the chat. Frankly, we don’t talk about matters other than sports and movies and food. I don’t remember how the conversation began traversing into that area, but the only thing that I could remember from that conversation was the ‘girls’ part. I guess that was the gist worth remembering after all. We were talking about how chicks consume the life of boys and at the same time, ruin a guy’s buddy relationship with his best friend by dating ceaselessly with a girl. And how they get angry at you if you don’t initiate ‘friendly’ gesture when you see her in public. You know, the small talk, the flirting smile, the ‘Hello, you look lovely in that dress’ and all that. Mizi, being the eldest of the three, corrected us by saying: "Girls, to them, it doesn’t matter how you look, man." Upon hearing that quasi-sarcastic remark, I was about to burst into this hysterical laughing ogre when he continued on with: "You just need to be a good listener and talker, man. You know, keep her entertained, dude. And then, wham, she’s digging you by the minute." He said further that girls, especially the pretty ones, have this self-built thick wall of protection surrounding them and that they don’t just let anybody get near them that easily. You have to work through that wall and pace the correspondence, all done suavely and slowly. And this is best done through that listening-and-talking shit that he said. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a six-pack or that your belly is as big as a beer keg, if you know how to treat a lady, then all is fine. "You’ll get laid, you’ll get laid." Being the skeptical goat-bastard and male-chauvinistic pig that I am, I retorted: "Yeah, right, man. And me Dad is the founder of Playboy." Mizi looked at me with his cold eyes and smiled a ghastly grin of confidence. He twirled his eyeballs backwards and replied to me the most painful truth: "Look at me. I am getting married to my girlfriend next year. And I am not even 25." That struck my ego's groin hard.