It started one day in a narrow corridor, I walked up clumsily, already missing the orientation, bespectacled at the size of a small orange class located in middle of many other orange classes.
Orange. A color untried. A display of difference. A blatant shout-out saying aloud to the rest of Malaysia- 'we are a stand-out'- all done from a distance, in a small shadowy, lonesome street in the middle of what was supposed to be the future city of Malaysia- Cyberjaya.
Before we turn back to actually take notice, three years and seven months pass, and you look at each other and realize that you need to ask that question- when are we going to see all of this again? Except for that one day in December when we might all stand in hordes, smartly-dressed- but the most we will be able to do is nod and smile in approval- flanked at one side by our parents of relatives- the other mentally relishing the end and a new journey to begin. But how many of us will take that long glazing glare, and look beyond this humane flaws, this criticisms, this less-than-perfections, this hype, and actually reflect what has happened in the past four years?
They got nothing to do with the purple, yellow, orange corridors. They have nothing to do with a fancily named Makan 'Lah', nothing to do with a sneering library baggage room caretaker, nothing to do with pregnant lecturers punching a doorknob in frustration, nothing to do with a class-whole attempt to remove a wisdom-plucked lecturer from teaching us consumerism, nothing to do with a herd-like rush to the labs and faculties as deadlines draw to a close. Nothing.
All they have to do is with us- the people. We made those 4 years. And beyond all these, I see stories that are worth carrying in our memories. Life often passes by being mundane and unspectacular, but little do we realize that all we need is the ability to spot an unique story.
When I came here, I was a youngster chasing a dream, who thought the dream was more important than anything else, that obsession is a good thing. Today, that obsession has transferred to passion. And unlike when I had come, everything else does matter- life's greatest lesson- nothing is trivial. Everything matters. Treat every matter with due respect and consideration.
Remember the young man who fought against the odds to be here- most of us neglect to know too much about him because it would make us feel guilty at our inability to cope with hardships as well as he has done. As well as he has fought against pain. When I came, I used to think my severe gastric was a pain off the top shelf. It is then that I realized so often we people try to potray ourselves on a standout by just inducing self-pity. Pain is an escapism to short-handedness. Since I met this man, I had stopped making pain a barrier for myself. You don't need to fight pysichal pain, but you need to accept it, and adapt it. When you do so, it becomes so much a part of you that you do not recognize that pain as a pain anymore. To date, it has been two full years since I last had a truly recognizable gastric attack. Now and then it threatened, but I never fed myself to entertain that notion. And would I have made this progress if I hadn't come here and met this person? No.
Many have viewed me over the course of these past four years as someone passive, quiet, reserved. I had a majority of my youth being just how I describe myself- an observer. Though detached to the normal eyes, I remain very much part of my surroundings, observing people, their attitudes, and always looking for stories. And when I told any small story I had found to my friends, they used to say they'd never find such stories in their campuses. My campus is unique- they'd say.
We all might stand up and yell a loud, deafening no to them, saying that our campus is just an overhyped rubbish- that the () sucks, that this () is ruined, so on and so on. But all those things don't matter. We matter. The stories came and were viewed because of who we all were and are. True again, we never had the environment of spending that much of time together as it would have been in any other campus- another thing we could rue about.
But at the end of the day, we can't reverse four years, and neither it is justified to have regrets as we collect our black caps and robes next month and make a beeline for escapism.
I do not know whether the place we had studied in for four years is unique per se or not. But a place is not unique by itself- it is the people who make it unique. I do not know the president to realize whether he is one unique man or not- but I do know this much- We are unique. We, when molded together, is like an assortment of different characters of different colors, a stunning variety- from an Indonesian bright mind whose humbleness beats you to death, to an eccentric tall guy who knows little more than being a nuisance, which is how I saved his number in my phone, to date.
Remember this assortment, as live fizzes too quickly, you might realize someday that this assortment was really something else. And rest assured, I will remember this assortment, even the tiniest parts of it, and even as years pass by and life drains any images of past- I will still be here, writing, typing, the quiet observer that I am, reversing the order of life and collecting larger images the quicker life passes by. We all stand at crossroads now. My path is visible. I need to travel alone. I know this day will come.
But though I travel alone, my path is one that collects stories, that is who I am, who discovers the little ironies of life and makes tapestry out of it. So go on in your paths. I hope when the day comes, you will have the time and memory to come see my tapestry.
Orange. A color untried. A display of difference. A blatant shout-out saying aloud to the rest of Malaysia- 'we are a stand-out'- all done from a distance, in a small shadowy, lonesome street in the middle of what was supposed to be the future city of Malaysia- Cyberjaya.
Before we turn back to actually take notice, three years and seven months pass, and you look at each other and realize that you need to ask that question- when are we going to see all of this again? Except for that one day in December when we might all stand in hordes, smartly-dressed- but the most we will be able to do is nod and smile in approval- flanked at one side by our parents of relatives- the other mentally relishing the end and a new journey to begin. But how many of us will take that long glazing glare, and look beyond this humane flaws, this criticisms, this less-than-perfections, this hype, and actually reflect what has happened in the past four years?
They got nothing to do with the purple, yellow, orange corridors. They have nothing to do with a fancily named Makan 'Lah', nothing to do with a sneering library baggage room caretaker, nothing to do with pregnant lecturers punching a doorknob in frustration, nothing to do with a class-whole attempt to remove a wisdom-plucked lecturer from teaching us consumerism, nothing to do with a herd-like rush to the labs and faculties as deadlines draw to a close. Nothing.
All they have to do is with us- the people. We made those 4 years. And beyond all these, I see stories that are worth carrying in our memories. Life often passes by being mundane and unspectacular, but little do we realize that all we need is the ability to spot an unique story.
When I came here, I was a youngster chasing a dream, who thought the dream was more important than anything else, that obsession is a good thing. Today, that obsession has transferred to passion. And unlike when I had come, everything else does matter- life's greatest lesson- nothing is trivial. Everything matters. Treat every matter with due respect and consideration.
Remember the young man who fought against the odds to be here- most of us neglect to know too much about him because it would make us feel guilty at our inability to cope with hardships as well as he has done. As well as he has fought against pain. When I came, I used to think my severe gastric was a pain off the top shelf. It is then that I realized so often we people try to potray ourselves on a standout by just inducing self-pity. Pain is an escapism to short-handedness. Since I met this man, I had stopped making pain a barrier for myself. You don't need to fight pysichal pain, but you need to accept it, and adapt it. When you do so, it becomes so much a part of you that you do not recognize that pain as a pain anymore. To date, it has been two full years since I last had a truly recognizable gastric attack. Now and then it threatened, but I never fed myself to entertain that notion. And would I have made this progress if I hadn't come here and met this person? No.
Many have viewed me over the course of these past four years as someone passive, quiet, reserved. I had a majority of my youth being just how I describe myself- an observer. Though detached to the normal eyes, I remain very much part of my surroundings, observing people, their attitudes, and always looking for stories. And when I told any small story I had found to my friends, they used to say they'd never find such stories in their campuses. My campus is unique- they'd say.
We all might stand up and yell a loud, deafening no to them, saying that our campus is just an overhyped rubbish- that the () sucks, that this () is ruined, so on and so on. But all those things don't matter. We matter. The stories came and were viewed because of who we all were and are. True again, we never had the environment of spending that much of time together as it would have been in any other campus- another thing we could rue about.
But at the end of the day, we can't reverse four years, and neither it is justified to have regrets as we collect our black caps and robes next month and make a beeline for escapism.
I do not know whether the place we had studied in for four years is unique per se or not. But a place is not unique by itself- it is the people who make it unique. I do not know the president to realize whether he is one unique man or not- but I do know this much- We are unique. We, when molded together, is like an assortment of different characters of different colors, a stunning variety- from an Indonesian bright mind whose humbleness beats you to death, to an eccentric tall guy who knows little more than being a nuisance, which is how I saved his number in my phone, to date.
Remember this assortment, as live fizzes too quickly, you might realize someday that this assortment was really something else. And rest assured, I will remember this assortment, even the tiniest parts of it, and even as years pass by and life drains any images of past- I will still be here, writing, typing, the quiet observer that I am, reversing the order of life and collecting larger images the quicker life passes by. We all stand at crossroads now. My path is visible. I need to travel alone. I know this day will come.
But though I travel alone, my path is one that collects stories, that is who I am, who discovers the little ironies of life and makes tapestry out of it. So go on in your paths. I hope when the day comes, you will have the time and memory to come see my tapestry.
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