The Umpteenth Journal Attempt (Version III)

A year ago this day, I completed my thesis examination, thus ensuring I could leave university with my head held high - or about as high as one’s head can get after six years of being stuck in the realm of higher education.

So what have I got to show for my half-dozen years at the esteemed  University of Indonesia’s International Relations department, apart from the toga and cap which I wore for the grand total of one sweaty day and a piece of cream-coloured parchment which certifies that I got out of there properly and not on my arse? Career-wise, I can’t really say for sure. It’s not as if my current occupation has much to do with it, nor did I see an abundance of job openings looking specifically for International Relations graduates (but then again, not that I would know - I didn’t really spend a lot of time perusing the classifieds).

But even if I didn’t get much academically, save for a degree, I thoroughly enjoyed my six years. Can’t say I knew every single person at the faculty, because I didn’t, but the friends I did have were more than enough for me. Heck, I wrote the names of just about every one of them in my thesis’ acknowledgements page. I’m not sure if I was that good of a friend to them; for all I know, in their eyes I was probably just that sarcastic, spaced-out goofball who seemed to be around forever, and I can’t blame them if they did think that, because that was more or less who I was, now that I think of it. And to some extent, I still am - now all I need are a bunch of movies in which to typecast myself.

Just the other night I had a small gathering of the old Class of ‘98, reminiscing on old times, catching up on new developments. People are going abroad to continue their studies, people are getting married…a lot can happen in a year. So far, all I’ve got to show for my year is my job - not that I’m complaining, of course. I’m lucky to have one at all, let alone one that is more or less everything I could ask for at this point in time. But as human beings are wont to do, there’s still stuff I want in order to be completely satisfied. Ranking high on the list is to stop being an emotional retard and finally sort some stuff out, especially on the relationship front. Which is something that’s been high on the list for quite a long time now, and it never seems to get resolved. But what’s the point of living without hope, eh? Who knows, maybe I’ll even get it done this time around. Check back here next year.

Been meaning to write for a while, since over a week ago. But as usual, laziness crept in, in addition to a (un)healthy dose of lethargy, probably brought on by jetlag. What’s that, you say (or at least I imagine you do)? "Jetlag? Where’ve you been flying off too?"

The answer to that query would be Sydney, over a week ago. Sydney, Australia, that is - it’s very likely there are other Sydneys somewhere out there, hence my specifying it. The reason can be seen somewhere at the top of this page. It was a big trip for me - first time I’d been in a plane and out of Java in over six years, first time I’d been abroad in over seven, first time I’d been sent anywhere on assignment. Wish the timing were about a month later, specifically when Teenage Fanclub are scheduled to be in town. Ah, well - of all the places I could’ve been sent, I probably couldn’t have asked for anywhere better than the city recently voted the best in the world (look it up yourself - I’m not your Googling bitch). I’d ask for London, though sometime when things have settled down. Terrorist scum.

Anyway, since getting back I seem to have acquired a disturbing knack of using Sydney as a frame of reference. It just keeps creeping into my thoughts, and occasionally I have an inescapable urge to slip it into conversation. Don’t get me wrong, i had a great time during my short stay, but I don’t want to turn into some jackass who just happened to get out of the country and feels the need to brag about it. Why just this morning, I went for a jog/stroll around the neighbourhood, and one of the first things that came to mind was, "My, the cool air reminds me of Sydney!" Ack. Feel free to slap me should I ever slip in a gratuitous Sydney reference when I talk to you.

Speaking of jogging, I’ve been meaning to do it for a while (see previous post on issues of a fat-ass persuasion), but of course I’ve been to damn lazy to get out of the warm confines of bed, and I’m generally not even conscious during optimal jogging hours. As it turned out, I just happened to be awake at six and decided I might as well get it over with.

After five minutes, it became apparent that my current jogging endurance is on the wrong side of woeful, with my heart feeling like it was about to erupt like tenaciously-squeezed acne. So I walked for most of the outing, just taking in the scenery I don’t often get to enjoy, due to the fact that our house is up by the main road. Entering the neighbourhood complex means going downhill into the valley, and man, the view - enhanced by a generous helping of morning dew - is quite special. No wonder there are quite a few people who opt to do the morning fitness routine, even if it is mostly just pensioners doing their aerobics or walking their dogs. Everyone else is busy being stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic from as early as 5:30 in the morning due to school being back in session, meaning parents have to leave earlier to get their kids to school before driving off to work and motorbikes are even more of a nuisance than usual (if you ever thought it possible) because they end up hogging the pavement in their annoying attempts to weave through the gridlock.

Have you ever stood by a busy road at six in the morning, watching the irritated, sleepy faces of men, women and children who’ve had to get up early to beat heavy morning rush hour traffic, only to end up stuck in it anyway because everyone’s too bloody impatient to get to where they’re going that they neglect common sense and courtesy to prevent road bottlenecks getting clogged up, thus causing vehicular movement to get reduced to the pace of dried-up snot dangling precariously from a blocked nostril, while you yourself are fortunate that you don’t have to leave the house for another two hours at the very least and can do nothing but offer a sympathy smile or a snickering sneer at the poor bastards, however you feel inclined?

I have.  And it feels GREAT.

Upon arrival at the office, I got online and browsed the usual websites, including www.football365.com , where I was besieged by the headline:

Gerrard finished at Liverpool

Drat. Things had been looking bad a day earlier, but I’d assumed it was just media hype. My initial reaction to this latest development was, "Ah, sod the indecisive twat. Bring on the new players that 40 million quid can buy!"

Then I was away from the PC for a long spell, only to come back and find:

Stevie G To Stay At Anfield!

Hmph. Thoughts? Well it’s nice he changed his mind (and heart?), but this is getting beyond ridiculous. If he pulls the same stunt again, I hope he spares us all the drama.

I think I’m in the worst shape of my life. At present, I weigh 68 kgs, I spend most of my working hours at my desk or grabbing a long afternoon nap on the office couch. I usually get home late after traffic has died down and slouch in front of the TV, if possible with a Coke in hand. Then it’s off to bed and the routine goes on for the whole week, even Saturdays because I have to go to the office. On Sundays, I’m just too knackered. All I want to do is lie in, but I don’t even get to do that, being the only one at home who can (legally) drive and has to take everyone to wherever they want me to take them.

Last Saturday drove home just how out of shape I am. In the afternoon I had a football game with my high school time (98) against the year below us (99), a warm-up before the alumni tournament later this month. I can’t remember the last time I played - probably during last year’s tournament. Anyway, we won 1-0, but being as out of shape as I am, I could barely breathe or run after only 20 minutes on the field. The icing on top occurred near the end of the match, when I went for the ball and crashed into this big dude who had about a foot and 20 kilos on me. I went straight to ground and couldn’t breathe. My ribs still hurt now and walking properly is a chore.

After the match, went to Citos for a small gathering of old campus friends. Had dinner at Fish & Co. based on a recommendation, which proved to be solid. Very generous portions, and the refillable Coke didn’t hurt at all. Of course, this all left me with my already-expanding gut stretching even further over my belt. Not a pleasant sight, especially if you have a penchant for wearing tight t-shirts and are self-conscious.

The target, then, is to get in shape. For health and aesthetic reasons, and because there’s a tournament coming up and I would like to be able to play without clutching my chest for three quarters of the match’s length. I wonder just how much of this is wishful thinking, as I’ve wanted to start exercising for a while, but just haven’t got around to it, or when I’ve got around to it, I’ve lacked the persistence to keep it going. Sort of like this blog, then…