How do I suddenly come to despise the one subject that I’ve been looking forward to since last year? It was as though I was kid eagerly waiting for Christmas to come only to find that Christmas is nothing more that a day at the gas chambers in a POW camp (which is not, I apologise, and Christmas is still the best celebration ever Christmas is good Christmas is cool deck the halls with boroughs of holly mistletoe nice jingle bells please don’t hate me…).

This is the deal here; photojournalism. Sounds cool? Heck it sounds cool. It sounds like Linkin Park bashing it up at the KLCC Park, and if things don’t sound cooler than that, Eminem decidedly joined in the party with Snow Patrol and Sum 41 bringing up the ante. So here I was expecting things to be cool, and I mean COOL baby, and yeah is it COOL. In the other sense, that is.

Because I was freezing off my buttocks as I sit waist-high in utter boredom while trying to fend off the bloody swarm of exhaustion and starvation, all while the lecturer thought it was a great time to tell us his daring(!) and amazing(!) tales of his as he tried to survive his campus days with crappy meals and antique cameras.

And that’s what we need, don’t we? We need grandmother stories to further fortify our knowledge and talents as we brace the cruel harsh world of journalism, and the boredom of listening to it is only the easy part my son, for when you face the reality of the cold barren lands of adulthood you will be a man for all to see…

One word: Fuck you. (Oh wait, sorry, there were 2 words).

No, I’m not exactly glad to sit myself under the insane cold of the damn air-cond (who in the right mind would blast it to full? It’s the rainy season for sakes of sakes) while the lecturer thought it would be cool to share a ‘little’ experience of his own. Oh well, I shouldn’t really mind too much, well, one can’t normally help but to tell a story, no? I mean, yeah sure, numb our minds with a tale as long as The Long Walk itself and wow us with the intense(!) and insurmountable(!) adventures(!) you had when you were young, and by all means help yourself thank you very much, because we really care oh we do we do we love it I want to know what happens next yay joy someone ask him to freaking shut the fuck up before I ram the damn keyboard down his throat…

Sigh, I’m not saying that he’s bad, because he’s not, really. Still, I’m not glad to have to put myself at risk of hypothermia (first of its case involving an air-conditioner) and having to listen to stories that I don’t think is very relevant, and especially after having to sit through a gruelling 8 hours of class before. I love the pics, and sometimes stories are good but I don’t really need to know what happened when you went to Indonesia and saw a natural monument that tells the tale of Si Tenggang the Dastardly Asshole and having to listen to you to tell us the whole Tenggang folklore yourself…

Honestly, if I take any more of this, I’ll pull a Di Caprio and shout “Give me a bottle of scotch and a freaking handgun to blow my fucking head off,” at the local psychiatrist so that I can get a prescription of anti-depressant drugs.