Rae: 2 Problem: 1

I didn't end up doing the timetable first thing in the morning. As expected, I got lazy and stayed in bed until 11 a.m. I only got up because I was feeling hungry. So I made some toast and a cup of coffee then eat while watching an episode of How To Get Away with Murder (that's an engrossing show).

I was still lazying around after but then managed to do my timetables before I leave for work. It took me thirty minutes to get it done. I did my best to cramp all the classess in to two or three days so I have more days to work. This is what I managed to get:

Monday

09.30-10.30 BUSM1162 (Tutorial)

10.30-13.30 ISYS2391

14.30-17.30 ACCT1109

(Starting next week, I'm going to hate Monday even more than I already do.)

Wednesday

17.30-20.30 ACCT1110

Thursday

15.30-17.30 BUSM1162 (Lecture)

(I hate it when one course has tutorial and lecture in separated clasess. Really, really hate it.)

So that's how my timetable looks like. Three days of classes and the others I can work. 

Timetable: Complete. 

Another problem is solved. 

What now? Oh yeah, I got new problem come up: My computer broke down. Just now. Hooray!!! (I'm typing on my phone now.) I just got home from work and was going to use it to check on uni important days because my brother asked me when is my graduation date in December. He found a good deal for tickets. Obviously Mum is coming here for my graduation. But when I turned the computer on there was something unusual with the LCD. I'm no computer expert but when I saw the static lines on the screen, I know there's something wrong with it. I tried turning it off then on back again but it didn't work. So that's it. I declared my computer broke down at around 10.20 p.m. 

Understandably, it had served me since 2005 or 2006. If it were a human, it had come to a dying age before eventually died. (See, I'm talking in the past here.) It's about time it died anyway. I probably can take it to a repair shop but I don't have spare money for it. And by the look of it, my guess is it's gonna cost me at least a couple of hundreds dollar. Buying a new one is definitely out of question. Remember when I talked about money the other night? Not only do I not have spare money, I'm still short on tuition fee. So I'm saying goodbye to it (and to TV series--damn I haven't watched Brittana's wedding episode on Glee). 

Dear Comp, I thank you for your service. I'm sorry that I snapped at you when you go slow and forcefully plugged you off when you freeze. I did you harm for countless time while you dutifully served me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of you. It's an honour for me to have you for ten years. May you rest in peace. 

With the computer broke down, I got another problem: How am I going to study and do my assignment without a computer? I know I can use the computer lab in uni. But I still need it for when I need to study (or for entertainment, most likely) at home. Well, it's something that I don't have a back up plan. So, computer lab it is. Looks like I'm going to set a camp and stay the nights there during the assignment and test weeks. No biggie. Just not looking forward to it. But it's okay. I'm sure I can handle it. I've done it before, staying the nights at uni.

Two problems solved, a new one occurred. Rae: 2 Problem: 1. At least I'm still one score ahead. How cool is that?

Until next post. 

Visa Renewal Grant

Yay!

Yip. I finally received my new student visa today (Tuesday). In the afternoon my phone buzzed as the email coming in. The subject read: "IMMI Grant Notification", with a lot of codes and numbers. Somehow the codes and numbers make the email seem utterly important. Especially when they're in capital. So apparently I didn't have to wait too long for the medical examination result. That's what I'd call a top-notch service! A very well done, Bupa! (But I'm sorry I have to stick with Medibank for my Overseas Student Health Cover. I think you know why.)

I tapped on the subject and opened the attachment file. It is my visa. I scrolled down to read it briefly. There's my personal detail on it, along with the application code (it's what they put on the email subject) and visa grant number. On one page there's the detail of the document. It reads: 

Initial Stay Date: 15 March 2016

Must Not Arive After (or rather I would say "Gotta Get the Hell Out of Here After"): 15 March 2016

Stay Period: 15 March 2016

So that's it. 15 March 2016. Get whatever my plan is done before that date or I'll get my ass kicked out. Alright. Talking about the plans and money before bed turned out to be a bad move. I had a bad dream last night. I don't remember what it is but it's just really, really bad. I woke up tired in the morning. So I'm not going to do it again. 

One problem is solved. I can relax a bit for now. Just for a bit. One problem at a time, Rae. Remember? Aye, I'm trying here. I'm grabbing the thought in my hand now. You can't do everything all at once. I know that. Now will you shut up. (Oh, I'm talking to myself and usually have the full conversation in my head. I know it weirded you out. But try it yourself. It feels so damn good!)

Okay. So what now? Oh, right: Timetable. Well, I can do it tomorrow. It's no big deal. Mr J is just gonna be pissed at me. But so what? He can be pissy all he want but I'll do my timetable whenever I want. It's my timetable after all, no? 

Alright. Kidding. I'll do it first thing in the morning or anytime tomorrow. I'm gonna have to buckle up and start warming up for the ride. So tomorrow it is I'll be doing the timetable. Chop, chop! 

Until next post. 

Plan A and Plan B

March is coming soon. It means two things: autumn season and uni. Although the weather is still unpredicted (it's Melbourne, come on) but lately it's been raining. Not much but it's a shower. On average the temperature is still hanging between 30 to 35 degrees. Not sure if it's gonna change as the week coming. So I'm enjoying the heat while it last.

Speaking of uni, it starts on March 2. Meaning this is the last week of summer break. My God, the break is going to be over so soon and I feel like I didn't have a break at all. Aside from having a vacation with Quinn, I have spent my days working or studying for the deferred exams. Now the exam is over, I've been working a lot. I just checked my roster and apparently I have to work double shifts for four days. Starting today. No day off. There goes my break... But what do they say about beggars? Oh right, beggars can't be choossers. So work I must. 

With uni starting soon, there's something I need to do. I need to do my class timetables. But boy I'm too lazy to do that. I haven't even checked the preliminary one (let alone done it)! Mr J, my boss, has been hovering over me, asking for my timetable because he needs everyone's timetables so he can work out a new roster. But, but and but. I'm just so lazy. Don't know why. But I'll do it eventually. Just not now. 

About my visa renewal application. I've done the medical examination on Thursday and still have to wait 5 working days for them to update the result to my online immigration account. That's the last thing that should be done. So all I do now is waiting. 

Speaking of visa. Since I'm planning on not going back to Indonesia, I'm going to apply for PR here. Well, that's plan A: apply PR straight after graduate. That if I can get all 7 in IELTS. The higher, the better. So I'm aiming at 8 (which seems impossible, damn). Plan B is to apply Graduate Visa once I graduate. It'll buy me eighteen months to stay in Australia. During the eighteen months I'll work my ass off to get a job in accounting field and/or doing IELTS until I get all 8. Or just doing any work, preferably full-time and/or doing IELTS. Then apply PR. (By the way, I'm not offering any advice or guidance. I'm just talking about my plan here. Please refer to Australian Immigration website for information.) There's no Plan C, nor Plan D and so on. 

Now let's talk about money. Rumor has it that PR application alone is going to cost applicants $3,500. So with medical examination, blood test, police check, IELTS test and I'm not sure what else, it'll cost me roughly around $5,000 to $6,000. That's for plan A. Now Plan B. According to Nana, who is applying for Graduate Visa, it cost her about $1,500 to $1,600. Well, I'll round it to $2,000. 

So getting all those money is what I have to figure out. Boy it's about time I pamper my CV again. I've landed some casual job at uni and the pay is good. Yip, I use to work for my uni casually. I'm the person who gets done whatever things needed to be done. But that's for short-term period only. For long-term period, well, I still need to figure it out. Surely I'll have to secure at least a full-time job after graduate, that's what is obvious. 

But that's all about visas. There is still tuition fee I have to worry about. I have paid around $1,200 for my student visa renewal and have gone totally broke. The tuition is due in March so I really need to save every penny I can get from any extra shift. I'm getting back all the money but still have to work my ass off. I have less than a month and am still a couple thousands short even after working nearly full-time these past few weeks. And when break is over and uni starts, I can only work for limited hours. 

How am I going to get all that money?

Bleh. I'm going to bed. 

Until next post. 

What I Would Call PMS

Lately I've been in bad mood. I'm grouchy and irritated all the time. Seems like I woke up on the wrong side of bed. To make it worse, the tenants living downstairs have been nasty noisy. This morning I have awoken by the sound of door banging and screaming. What the hell is wrong with them. It was only 6 a.m. and I really needed my sleep after working double shift yesterday (Friday). I finally made a complaint to the landlord because it's been going on for almost two weeks now. And on the same Friday, a workmate pulled a sick joke on me at work but I was too upset and too tired to tell him to fuck off.

To top it off, I called Mum earlier and asked her how's the thing going with the police report on Dad. She said he's nowhere to be seen right now so the police couldn't do anything about it yet. So that's it. I lost it. I lost my shit. I spurted like a hose (that does sound naughty, doesn't it?). Anyway, what I mean by the metaphor is I erupted. Clearly I bottled things up and I erupted so whatever is this feeling, it will hopefully die down. I can't remember anything I said to Mum on the phone and I reckon she didn't understand a single word I blurted. It's something like "it's a fucking corrupt system and shitty law enforcement we have back at home" along the lines. I mean, seriously, it's a freaking domestic violence and they're just letting it go. They're letting him go. No. This has nothing to do with acceptance. This has to do with justice. How can he get away with domestic violence and the system is just too corrupted. And to think about this thing is also happening to any other woman or child out there makes me even more irritated. Fuck morality. Fuck culture. When one does wrong, one deserves to be punished. 

Deep breath... Breathe in...hold...breathe out.... I require breathing exercise (which is not quite helpful right now). 

What sucks the most is, I've been having this stupid sugar craving. Sugar craving! Like I need any more sugar. I curse myself for buying chocolates on Valentine's because Coles had them on discounts, for god sake! I bought ten too many and put them in the fridge so I've been snacking on it. I popped a bag of pop corn earlier and munched it while watching the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy. Then I tore open a bar of Kit Kat while watching an episode of How To Get Away with Murder. I need to get rid the chocolates. Soon. 

"Fuck. Fucking sticks, screwing, shitting, frigging, fucker fuckness." That's pretty much how mad I am right now. Oh, that's probably the best cursing line I've ever read in a book. (Refer to The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes.) 

OK. When breathing exercise isn't working and pop corn and chocolate didn't help, it's time to go for the mantra, while sitting crossed-legs on the floor. 

Hum... hum... hum.... 

Until next post. 

Sunday Hang Out

Every time I talk about how I spend my weekend alone, either working or staying at home, or how I love being in solitude in one day and others I despise it so much, I risk sounding like a broken record. Risking no more, I had agreed to meet up with some friends last Sunday. There was a food festival in Docklands devised by another friend. So, in order to show some support, Allie asked me and some others to go. Allie, she's turning 22 this year. A pretty girl and apparently the youngest at workplace. She's studying psychology. Lita, an energetic young girl and fearless. A year older than Allie and is studying something about, uhm, airplanes and safety and stuff. I always forget everytime I ask her. Nana, well, you know Nana already. Eye, Nana's little sister, who just came here from Thailand to study engineering something something. She's at Lita's age. (Jeez, hanging out with them, I feel old.) We all ended up going to Docklands, then went to have dinner at Mook Ji Ba, a korean restaurant in city.

It was a fun night. We ate too much food and talked a lot. We threw jest on each other, bullied Allie, talked more, gossiped about work, drank plum wine, made fun of Allie again, had desserts, talked more, laughed all night. I was able to laugh and had fun, and eventually had real food and ate. I haven't been able to eat properly since Mum's incident. For a while, I realised I hadn't thought about Mum and Dad. I feel kinda bad after but it felt so damn good while I was with them. I'm sorry, Mum, but you know I still love you all the same.

Thanks to Allie for organising the catch up. Looking forward for the next one. Hopefully we can get a day where we all can meet before uni starts for me and Allie. Since Tab quit, I barely see her much.... Oh, and Allie has put herself as a candidate to be my study buddy this semester. Because Nana's graduated so I lost a study buddy. Think I've told you about that before. Anyways.

Some photos Allie took that night. All credited to her. I wasn't with my phone all night.

Spicy Fried Chicken with cheese. Damn yum!

Kimchi Pancake. A bit sour for my liking but tasted yum all the same.

Tteokpoki (or something like that).

Plum wine. CHEERS!!!

Until next post.

Updates on Mum

Days after the incident happened, Mum is still a bit unwell. But she's being medically treated and is progressing. Slowly. But she's getting there. I called her earlier this afternoon before I clock in for work. She sounded ill. Her voice was raucous and she told me her chest is still aching. Upon hearing this, my thought lingered to Dad and I pondered on how did this thing with us and him get this far. The feelings I've been trying to lock away suddenly poured all over me. I busied myself at work and pushed the thought of Dad away for awhile.

I'll try to write this as calmly and less fiercely as I can possibly be and not spit every single thing about my feelings toward Dad. Because I tend to be like a volcano spurting fierce lava whenever the topic of Dad is brought up. To help me out with this, I have my Spotify playing calming music, accompanied by the sound of rain tapping on the roof. I took a shower before and now am snuggled on my comfy bed. You see, I'm making an effort here. Let's see if I can maintain it as I proceed.

There was one time I wrote about Dad, sent it to Sepoci Kopi and was published. Let me see if I can find it... Aha, here it is: Father and I. Looking at the date it was published, apparently it was five years ago. Wow. How time flies. I was five years younger then, when I wrote the article. Everything was alright. Or at least it seemed alright to me. We were just like any other family. Mum, Dad and us, the children. It wasn't a picture-perfect family but it was a complete one. And we were together as family.

It didn't take a long time to destroy the twenty-five years marriage. In fact, it only took one single mighty-earth-shattering earthquake. Unfortunate, wasn't it? That's what people said. Everyone seemed to have their own opinion. Friends of family's got split up into two sides: Team Mum at the right side and Team Dad at the left side. Later we found out that they even argued about who was to blame. Just so you know, many blamed Mum and said things they don't even understand. Friends of hers turned their backs on her and aligned with Team Dad. For some other people, they didn't want to get involve with it but surely the news was something they were eager to talk about whenever there they had a chance. They would talk about it for hours, weighing down the facts and the rumors, and then jumped to a conclusion. They seemed to forget that they actually didn't know a single shit about us. Yet, they still talked about it in a gossipy kind of way. It was like pouring a gasoline into a burning fire.

While for me, and my brothers, it was simply a hell.

Years now, and the fire is still shimmering inside me. Thinking of what Dad has done to us makes the fire ablaze. Once in a while I would ask myself these questions:

1. Do I hate him?
2. Am I holding a grudge against him?
3. Did he even mean it when he disowned me in front of people?
4. Do I care if he didn't love me? 
5. Do I hate him?

The answer to all those questions is I don't know. People often exhort me, saying things like "he's your dad, no matter what", "forgive him for he doesn't know what he's doing" and blah blah blah. I blocked them out because, really, he knew exactly what he was doing and don't try to justify his wrongdoings just because he's my dad. I'm utterly, utterly aware that he is my dad. Duh. It just makes me sick, the way they try to console me by bringing up morality. Morality doesn't do justice in this matter. And justice is all I want.

Looking at him now, watching how his life has turned upside down ever since, I can't help but feeling satisfied. Am I happy to see him living in failure? Maybe yes, maybe no. I may not know the answer right now as he's still very much walking around in pride. But it doesn't feel wrong to me to feel happy when the time comes for justice, either. Maybe by then I will find out my true feeling. We'll wait and see.

I just got off the phone with Mum and she sounded better than she did this afternoon. She talked about my nephew and there was a faint of gleefulness in her voice. She always sounds happy whenever she talks about Gabriel, her grandson. Listening to her, I know exactly one thing. That Mum is all that matters. 

Until next post.

Mum is Unwell

Living by myself, faraway from family and kinsfolk, I've possessed a habit of never turning off my mobile phone. Even when I go to sleep. I set the 'Do Not Disturb' mode to be automatically on from 12 a.m. until 8 a.m., meaning my phone will be on silent mode during that time and only my family can reach me through phone calls. Other than my family, well, all the calls will go to my voicemail and any other notifications will be silenced. Reason is, just in case something bad happens at home and I need to be informed, that's why I never turn my phone off, while at the same time I do still need my beauty sleep.

You know, for years and I still jump whenever my phone rings or beeps or even vibrates and turns out It's from my family. Ever since I moved out of the house, it's always been me calling them. So, whenever they ring me, in my head I think it must be a bad news. It doesn't always a bad news whenever they call or message me, I know. Like a couple of nights before, I received a message from Mum right before I went to bed. I didn't call her that night as I got home really late and thought she was in bed already. But when I saw 'Mum' on the screen, my heart skipped a beat. I frantically clicked on the message and read it. Apparently she was just asking where I was and after I replied saying I just got home and about to sleep, coming her reply saying to have a good rest, remember to pray before bed and take vitamins. I was relieved and realised that I was holding my breath while waiting for her to drop the bomb. Turned out no bomb that night. 

But one afternoon, it was about last week, there was indeed a bomb. I got a call from my uncle and he dropped the bomb as soon as I picked up. My heart didn't even have the chance to skip a beat. He told me that Mum was in a hospital as we speak. I turned limp. My knees felt like jellies I had to hold on to the table and slowly take a seat. Seemed like my worst nightmare just came true. I asked for details and he told me briefly about what happened as he was on the way to see Mum. He said, "your dad punched her in the chest and ran away." That should have explained enough of why Mum was hurt. As my brain started processing everything, my blood was boiled into lava. I was definitely in rage I wish I could fly back home at the second and find Dad for what... a vengeance? I don't know. But I couldn't and all I did was calling Mum and waiting for updates. 

How did my family turned into this? Well, to tell you the story, I have to go a few years back of my life and my family's. It was three years ago, around mid 2012, Dad filed a divorce paper to Mum. After twenty-five years of marriage, he wanted to divorce Mum for the most dubious reason. I was there with Mum on the day she received the paper. She knew nothing about it before and receiving the paper was a bit likely a shock. I took the letter from her hands after she'd done reading it. I read something about 'couldn't get along' somewhere in the lines. Twenty-five years and he said they both couldn't get along? I nearly laughed at the statement if it weren't for Mum's distress expression. There was a faint of heart-broken in her face, too. Maybe, she couldn't believe that Dad would do it. Maybe, she thought they both could get through the shock wave. It's a family after all and they both had been through a lot. They had zero nothing when they got married until we had almost everything; houses, cars, lands, and all kind properties that I didn't even know we owned.

After that day, Mum's life had been spent in court, defending what being her and us, the children's, rights. Even until now, this matter has not yet been resolved. 

I'm not going to go into tiny little details because it will be a 1001 tales if I do. It will probably bore you to death. Let's just say that my family is not the same after the divorce. In a bad way, Dad is now out of our lives. In a good way, well, I'm not sure if there's any good about this, actually. But to see the bright side, Mum is happier now, despite the things that burdened her as a single parent. She single-handles everything without having to concern Dad. She's now the captain of the ship. (She's always been even before they got divorced, frankly speaking.) Earlier I called her, asking how is she now. She's still a bit unwell but she's being medically treated. And I know I can't rest assure until she is well.

Then, how does this event affect my relationship with Dad? Well, it's something that I will tell you some other time. Right now, my mind is too occupied with Mum's health, deferred exams and my visa renewing process. I can't let whatever feeling I have about Dad to stress me out even more than I already am. Besides, I still have to figure it out. In the meantime, my only concern is Mum and only Mum.

Until next post.

Me in a Lesbian Club For the First Time

Have I ever told you the story about me going to a lesbian club for the first time? Yes? No? Oh well, I'm just going to tell you, anyway. Since I'm still on Uni break and I took a week off from work because I've been working restlessly these past few months. Besides, I got a couple deferred exams next week and have been studying, I could use a writing before bed to relax me a bit.

It was around September last year when I went to a lesbian club. There was a new club in St Kilda, launching a girls night event on Fridays. It was called Chances. A few friends I know from a lesbian group wanted to check out the club and so they posted an invitation. I wasn't going to go but Miss Bouncy and a couple other friends insisted that I should go with them. Well, with nothing to lose I eventually agreed to go. On the day, we went to have a dinner in Emporium, then having desserts at Passionflower in Bourke Street. By 10 PM we headed to Chances. 

We rode tram 96 that took us to the club. It was like fifteen minutes ride. By the time we got closer to our destination, I realised I was growing nervous. Like, seriously, this would be my first time going to such club. I tried having a conversation with my friends to hide my nervousness. If anything, they would have noticed. But they didn't. When the tram finally stopped at the stop where we were supposed to get off, I swear my heart skipped a beat. In a bad way. What the fuck am I doing? Why the hell did I agree to this? What if I met someone I know who isn't suppose to know I'm gay? For the record, I was--am--paranoia when it comes to this matter.

For another record, I was--am--quite closed regarding my sexuality and that time I was about to be out. It was like admitting to the entire world that hey, I'm gay! But I couldn't back off and getting all cold feet when I was already there, right? So, I braced myself and followed my friends as they walked toward the club. We paid the entry fee and had our hands stamped. Music was banging loudly upstairs, as loud as my thumping heart. The music got louder as we approached the room, echoing through the soundproof walls. Lucky for me the room was dimmed and I could barely see the faces around me. Or better, no one could see me.

For a club, the venue wasn't so big. It was a square room with a dance floor in the middle. A bar on one side, booths on the opposite with couches and tables and lit-candles on it, a balcony on the other side and DJ booth on the opposite of the balcony. We went straight to the bar and my friends ordered some drinks. I'd like to stay sober, so I got myself a coke, which tasted more like water. As my eyes got used to the darkness, I looked around. The room was filled with girls and it was packed. I suddenly felt all claustrophobic. Never in my life I've been to a room full of lesbian this amount. I was petrified, to be honest.

I felt like everyone was staring at me, which was a completely stupid thought because they were all busy dancing and partying. Why would they notice a scared newbie? Except one or two of them did. So, I sticked close to my friends and even told them not to leave alone. We took a seat on one of the booths near the dance floor. It gave me a full view of the entire club and this time I looked around and noticed the people. Most of them were young girls; butches, femmes, trannies, tomboys, andros and so on. Some were in their 20s and 30s, and even some were really, really old. Too old to go out clubbing, in my opinion (yes, subjectively). So far I didn't see anyone that is my type. (Well, I don't really have a type.) I looked over the people on the dance floor and spotted the DJ. She was a blonde, wearing a fitted-short dress, and was hot. At least the DJ was a candy for the eyes, although she played pop songs all night. After my brief inspection, I concluded that everything screamed lesbian. 

Sipping my Coke, I remained seated for almost half an hour until a girl came and stood in front of me. She held out her hands and asked for a dance. I nearly choked on my Coke. Someone, I bet it was one of my friends, pushed me up to my feet and took my drink, yelling, "Go dance!" I helplessly took the girl's hands and followed her to the dance floor. Only then I remembered that I'm--was--a robot. I couldn't dance. I didn't know how to groove. Part of my body under my hips was totally numb. But I danced all the same, though I wouldn't call it a dance in so many ways. After a while, I started feeling loose and relax. Well, I didn't see anyone I know so I was relieved and actually enjoying the night a bit. I danced with the girl and talked with her. We practically had to yell. 

As the night growing late, I went back to my seat after dancing with the girl. Then another girl approached me and asked for a dance. Oh well, couldn't really say no, I got to my feet and followed her. We started dancing and suddenly she leaned closer and said, "It's okay if you want to sit with your girlfriend, though." I didn't know who she was referring to, but I told her that I don't have a girlfriend. Then she mouthed, "Oh, good then." Ha! What a way to find out whether I was single or taken. 

By the end of the night, I've known some people, although I couldn't remember their names. I danced with strangers and with my friends. I got a few new names on my Facebook, because they asked for it. Eventually, it was a fun night, though at first I was chickened out by my own fear and paranoia. For sure that night led me to another LGBT events and parties. It's still not my thing, but I don't mind doing it once in a while. You know, partying, dancing, drinking, having fun in a way that is not reading. 

By now, I feel a bit open, although I'm still being careful as always. It loosen me a bit but doesn't mean that I'm ready to be fully out of closet, or going to be anytime soon. Just because I'm now living in a country that is more acceptable, doesn't mean I can cope with it easily. And no one can make me do it but myself, when I'm ready. I put myself wherever I want to be. I decide. No one else but me. And that's why I skipped the Pride march on last Sunday. It wasn't a top ten in my bucket list of things I have to do before I die, anyway. Definitely I can live without going to Pride. 

Until next post. 

The People I Met: Mr Happy Face

When I first arrived in Melbourne, in July 2013, my first place of abode was a shared-house in South Morang, a suburb 39 km away from City. It was the only place I could afford at that time, and whose owner was kind enough to keep the room for me for 6 months without requiring me to pay a deposit prior my arrival. Phoebe is her name. The rent was $400 per month with shared bills. Although I got my own room, and it was spacey enough for me, I shared the house with three other housemates: Phoebe herself, her husband, Johny, and her cousin, Christina, and a couple months later a dog, JJ. They are all just about my age and very nice people. I was lucky enough to have met them.

I liked living in that suburb. Despite the dullness, especially during winter, and the scarcity of stores and restaurants, I loved the quietness of the neighbourhood and its safety. The road will lead you to a scenic drive if you're driving to the suburb. And if you walk on the street you could see rabbits and even kangaroos deep in the park. But as much as I loved living there, the commuting to City and back was such a pain in the arse. The only public transport available from there to City is Metro Train, which takes nigh on one hour ride. My university is in City and everyday I had to ride on the train, but before I had to catch a bus that would take me to the train station. I used to spend nearly two hours just to commute to City and another two hours back. I often received a cringe from people on their faces whenever I told them I lived in South Morang, as if they could imagine how hard it must be for me to commute back and forth. It was, indeed, hard.

And that's where I met Mr Happy Face.

Mr Happy Face. That's what I call him as we were never exchanging names officially. He looks like a middle-aged man with rounded face and wearing a glasses. Well, the reason I call him Mr Happy Face is because his face always looks so happy, as if he was born with a smile permanently plastered to his face. He has this comical expression on his face that seems to cheer people up. He works at the train station and his job is to attend the customers with their enquiries. That's how I met him. Whenever I saw it was him behind the glassed-window I'd always prefer to come to him to top up my Myki card instead of using the self-service booth. As always, he would greet me with his genuine smile and followed by "How are you? Going to work or Uni?". We would converse briefly about weather or passing news on each other before I ran down to the platform to catch my train.

After a couple of months we have become more than strangers but less than friends to each other. Our conversation was now extended to my study, my future plan, our jobs and some more chit-chats. In one occasion we were talking about finding a job and he encouraged me to keep applying and don't give up. "Keep applying and apply and apply and some day you may land a job. It might not be the job that you want but it's a start. That's how I got this job," so he said. In some days I caught him working night shifts as I got back from City. So I would approach him and talk to him a bit while waiting for my bus. He would comment on my tiring-face and suggest a good rest and I would ask him how his day had been. He told me once about some grumpy customers and I drew a sympathetic smile, acknowledging him that I understand. Then I'd bid him goodnight as my bus arrived.

On my last day before moving to Preston, my current place, I saw him one last time. It was late at night as I disembarked the train and climbed the stairs to the station when I saw him working. Knowing that it could be the last time I see him, I went to say hi. We chatted a bit about our dats as usual before I told him that I'd be moving out. When I eventually did he told me that it was such a good idea to move to a suburb that is closer to City. That night he told me about some of the customers, the regulars, they moved out from South Morang a few years ago and then when they can afford it, they bought a house in South Morang and moved back in. Some of them got married and moved in with their spouse. 

"Maybe one day you can come back here. You'll graduate, find a job and buy a house here," he told me, cheerfully. 

I chuckled. "Yeah, if I can find a proper job after graduate."

"I believe you can. I can see it in you. You're a hardworker." He sounded so convincing. And then added, "Like I've told you before, keep applying and apply and apply."

At that moment I couldn't help but thinking how can he be so sure? How can he even said he believed in me, while I didn't--don't--myself? Was it the impression he got from our short talks? "Yeah. Hopefully," was the only thing I managed to say. 

It's been almost one year since our last meeting and I still can remember it clearly. I always think about it whenever I'm feeling down or desperate or feeling like I have hit a dead end. If he believed that I can do it, then I must believe in myself, too, that I can do it. It's some kind of a mojo I always tell myself when I feel like giving up. The magic word is believe in myself. It's one thing that I need to practice on, I know. I hardly believe in myself, in my capabilities. But I'm working on it, really. 

If you have the same problem as me, well... you're pretty much welcome to use the mojo like I do to myself. 

Believe. In. Myself. 

Believe. In. Yourself.

Until next post.