The landing

A bird that flies must reach a time when it lands on the firm ground. I'm one such bird.

Finally, after agonizing and excruciating seven months of waiting, I am entering the threshold of the university life. No, I am not at the threshold. I have already passed that gate. What awaits me here, beyond the gate, I cannot tell.

Upon arriving at the Melbourne International Airport, all eight of us were greeted by the Australian Custom's quarantine dog. The dog was cute, all right, but I don't like the prospect that it will stroll along our queue at the custom, sniffing at our bags for any food. I saw the dog sometimes rub its nose at the bags of people queuing in front of me, something I don't wish to happen to me. So when the dog is came beside me sniffing at my bags, I looked away because I don't want to even know if the dog really touches its nose at my bags. When you are not in an Islamic environment, especially overseas, Islam has taught its followers not to question or probe too deep into something because in the end, you will become more difficult for you. By choosing not to know, I have dispelled the possibility that I have to purify (samak) my bag even if the dog really did brush its nose against my bag. It is true when they say, "what you don't know won't hurt". Islam does not burden its followers.

After going through the quarantine check, luggage pick-up, and custom check, we reached the waiting hall. Unlike other Malaysian students who went to UK and Ireland, there were no senior students from Malaysia to greet us. This is when I first got a feeling that we have to be independent from now on. Independent meaning having to do things by ourselves, without the help of any seniors.

I'll just fast forward now...

[weutilizedtheMonashstudentpickupserviceandtravelledfromtheairport

atMelbournetothesuburbofClaytonwhereouruniversityislocated.alongthe

waythedriveractedasatourguidetellingaboutthisareaandthatareaandwe

gettoaskquestionsaboutAustralia.thedistanceisjustabout20kmbutittook

usabout45minutestoreachtheuniversity.iguessAustraliansjustdriveslower

thancrazyMalaysiansandifyouareactuallyreadingthisthanibetyoureallyhave

nothingelsetodootherthanoverworkingyoureyesandbrainandidon'teven

knowwhyyouevenbotherreadingthis.]

...there.

Monash University. Howitt Hall. That is where I lived now, after registering myself at the Monash Residential Services (MRS) to stay in the hall. To actually move to the MRS from where the bus dropped me in Monash University is already a tricky job. I was a little bit speechless when I had to move to my room on the 8th floor. Lucky for me (us) there is a lift.

I jabbed the lock with my room key with anticipation. I swung the door with hopefulness. As I scan the entire room, I was ridden with disappointment.

The room is small. Much smaller than I imagined. The minimalistic furniture including a single bed, a study table, a chair, and a wardrobe didn’t even bother me. It was the size of the room. Not to mention there was not enough light even with the curtains open.

And it just turned out that I’m the kind of person who hates small spaces. I don’t think I’m claustrophobic, but small and not-so-bright room makes me uncomfortable and depressed. I just plainly hate it. Period.

Well, I guess I just have to learn to accept this room as it is. Then I did the most likely course of action – unpack.

*Sigh*

(This entry is meant to be posted on 17^th of February, but instead it got months of delay. No doubt the result of my superb mastery in the art of procrastination, added with some unexplained problem with my computer not being able to access my Blogger account. Amazing, no?)