I am going to hand in my Honours dissertation tomorrow, effectively completing my university education. It’s surreal, bittersweet… You name it, I feel it. In my writing, at several moments, I remembered you. Taken from my thesis acknowledgements:

My supervisor, Dr. Rebecca Suter, who has been simply indispensable in the past year – my sincerest thanks and deepest appreciation for your unceasing patience, graciousness and optimism, as well as your valued tutelage and guidance in and outside of this Honours programme. Having you as a supervisor has been a joy, indeed. Domo arigato, sensei.

Davina and Tina, my partners in crime during this pivotal stage of our lives – as we near the end of the different phases of our university education, having still kept our sanity, I am reminded of how much your companionship has meant to me. Thank you for the study sessions, text messages and cups of coffee throughout the year (not forgetting the previous three); all of which have given me the encouragement and energy to press on.

Jessie, Rosa, Preethi, William, David and Elizabeth – all blessed with analytical minds and wonderful personalities, whose corresponding journeys have been a great source of support. I hope our paths will cross in the future.

Ernest, Eliss and my cell members – I have never witnessed more generosity and willingness of heart, nor have I experienced a dull moment with you. Thank you for the laughs on the weekend and your prayers during the week. Keep in touch!

Kay-Lene, my dearest and ever-present ‘old same’ – thank you for sympathising; for listening to my gripes; and for not holding it against me when I do not have the time to hear yours. I am more grateful for you than I am able to express.

Gerard and Amy, my encyclopaedias and voices of reason – thank you for the sage advice you have dispensed, even before I undertook this thesis project.

Roger F., excellence personified – to me, he is the archetype of hard work and strength of mind.

My parents and siblings, for your unconditional love – words are not enough to convey my indebtedness to the affirmation you have shown in my choices.

Last but not least, my Almighty God – the comfort during my most uninspired days and my beacon in the darkest of circumstances. You have never left my side.

My head is a ‘library of knowledge’, unfortunately on a topic I cannot discuss elsewhere. I have accumulated ten months’ worth of research for my thesis paper and it irritates me (a major understatement – ‘nauseates’ is more accurate) to have to reference a title with American spelling – ‘or’s, ‘og’s, ‘er’s, ‘ze’s, etc.

And now, to top off the already not-nice process of Honours, I learn that I am guilty of committing, albeit unwittingly, ‘American versus British’ spelling crimes (‘judgment’ looks better than ‘judgement’; same with ‘jail’ and ‘gaol’, ’skeptics’ and ’sceptics’). Those who know what a Nazi I am about spelling… Yeah, it sux.

I need to start writing my Honours paper this month (although I should have begun in May), so it’s semi-logical that I measure the extent of my vocabulary. Voilà – a word cloud of the 75 words I most frequently use on this blog:

At least I exercise judiciousness, evidenced by how small most of the words are (who would have thunk that I favour ‘like’ and ‘one’?). Out of the 20,000 words I have to emit from the scholarly section of my brain (akin to the Loch Ness Monster – both are only alleged to exist), it is safe to say I can avoid using a large proportion of the above. But I’m still going to try and slip in ‘Federer’ somewhere…

Good looks aside, why I am infatuated with Oguri Shun is a far cry from the reasons behind my schoolgirl crush on Zheng Yuan Chang and Lee Min Ho.

I may be single, but being a girl stereotypically means I am a romantic, no matter the circumstance.

How Roger Federer impels me to take action regarding my health (physical and mental) and fitness, without having to actually engage in tennis:

• Running and jumping during televised tournaments makes for good exercise.
• The Federer Diet – a loss in matches, as well as my appetite.
• Too busy feeling sadistic and depressed to get out of bed.
• Avoid being overly impassioned means less chance of a heart attack.
• A win and any number of these somehow relieve me of fatigue.

It was so surreal and almost make-believe that I discounted the fact that it actually happened. And just like that, my ‘date with destiny’ came and went.

How more hardcore fans remain satisfied with such a short-lived encounter I can never fathom. I, too, quietly gasped when he made his appearance; laughed harder than necessary at his antics; gave him my undivided attention, even when he played the occasional peripheral role; applauded and yelled when he took his bow… But the similarities stop there.

I am a ‘not enough’ person. I sat four rows from the front, within 20 metres from the stage - not near enough. I saw Zheng Yuan Chang in person (he is as statuesque and easy on the eyes as I’d expected, but my judgment is dangerously skewed) - not drawn out enough. I snapped two pictures - not personal enough.

Momentary glee from autographs and photographs becomes overshadowed by the rude realisation that he will be unable to distinguish one screaming girl from the next, not to mention his inevitable leave – why bother? My ego cannot withstand this degree of bruising.

A word to the wise: Do not talk or ask questions about Japanese, Korean or Taiwanese television series in my presence – you will send me into a tirade of squeals, kawaii actions, made-up Japanese and Korean phrases and laughable conduct in general (please observe).

I blame this behaviour, unworthy of an adult, on the deprivation suffered during my teenage years.

I cannot draw; my stickmen doodles are a joke. Not every piece of art I appreciate.

You would think that I have gained an exponential interest in art, especially after being in the company of Picasso, Monet, Renoir, and van Gogh, as well as moulages from The Louvre, during my time at Artica for the past three years. Just when I thought I’d acquired a fair measure of cultural capital to compensate for my pathetic monetary status, a visit to The J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles only confirmed that I am no art enthusiast.

According to my scale of WTF (1 being the most puzzling):

1. Christopher cannot eat rice when there is food that requires him to use both hands, like shelled prawns – he does not like a sticky spoon.
2. Christopher eats sweets two at a time, so he will, whenever possible, have an even number left over.
3. Christopher and Gerard must have the television volume at even numbers, except ‘5′, ‘15′, ‘25′, et cetera.
4. Vanessa’s friend (and my old running ‘rival’) arranges her books symmetrically.
5. When I accidentally hit two keys at the same time, I will restart my laptop.
6. I only use coloured toothpaste, so washing away remnants is easier.
7. Kay-Lene has a painstaking system of naming songs and singers in iTunes.
8. I must stir my drinks counter-clockwise.
9. Christopher and I put great effort into ensuring things are parallel and perpendicular.
10. My hangers must be approximately equidistant from one another (no surprise there).