Welcome back to the campus, today we shall try THE Royal Tandoori, at FOM.
Administrative bureaucracy is a pain. And so is the lack of spoon.
Thankfully someone voiced out and I received the touch of spoon a bit later.
It's quite burnt today, at least for the anchovies.
My stomach didn't take the sudden "culture shock" lightly.
I was seemingly too distracted until I didn't hear Koyo going out.
Per Geminis advice, I didn't listen much to it, and got a middle ground.
Gemini told me to get something healthier due to yesterday... Bakso isn't served. Ummifa is not serving me within a certain timeframe.
7-11 does not have what was suggested, avoided going AS & Kerabu as I walked past them, didn't want to go back to Chilli as I rejected them prior.
Sky... oh well. Goreng then goreng. What is life without risks.
Well, this ends the trimester break, and into the final CGPA'ed trimester (supposedly).
Nothing much happened, apart from more things breaking.
My GPU finally died, so I upgraded my PSU and case alongside it. No more excuses, no more limits.
Finished up both MyGo and Ave Mujica. Understood the lore, the collab, the art.
At least 500 images were made. Protect the cucumber.
Exclusion zone grew. Timetables made without me, moves without me.
Even if someone tried to “hold the cracks together,” it’s only glue — temporary, fragile.
I realized the fractures aren’t going anywhere. Timing, presence, inconsistency — not wrong, just enough to push me out.
So this is it. Not part of it anymore. Different schedules, different pace. Alone, but free — and that freedom costs.
Back to the trimester. Speedrunning to 8 trimesters? Hurdle after hurdle. Emails. Meets. Yes. No. Ping pong.
Just give me a no already, and I’ll off myself with a thanks. Don’t drag me. Graduating on time — inevitable.
18 credit hours. Lock in. Push. Survive without them.
Trimester 2610, Final Year Project, whatever you want to call it… Give your all. Fast. No shortcuts.