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*Exhales, stretches arms.

Five fifty one p.m.

Almost there, something less than two weeks I reckon. To fly out of this miserable country which I have tried only in vain to call it my home for six and a half years, would be much pleasure and happiness to my heart, and soul. The final weeks of my long, dark at times phase of this life is coming to an end, draw the curtains my dear stage cew!

I can not pen down, or at least find it near impossible to tell you what the last 6 years of medical school has been. Little consolations here and there, every now and then has indeed made it a little less painful, with that I hope all my non existant readers  would have a rough idea of what it feels like. To be completely honest, I hate it here, hate it to my bones. I'll never know exactly why I chose this dreaded country, but in hopes that what ever that I've learnt and gone through the past 6 odd years will bear fruit in life. That of course is only just a hope.

To hear that announcement over the audio visual aids welcoming you back home at the airport is what I've been looking forward to every year, and this year will be no different. Perhaps, this time, it would be much much sweeter, knowing that I will not have to be back here in two months, having to fly back. Oh, the wait!

Summer break has been very good, a trip to Spain, Mallorca (What an island!) and then Barcelona to be exact, for seven days with 3 other dear friends. The crystal clear sea waters, that fresh seafood paella which I had for four dinners in a week, and the very friendly Spanish people. What a country. There really isn't much to say about the trip except that it's left me broke but happy, almost the perfect end to my schooling life.

This may very well be my last entry here, and I am running out of things to write (never had much anyway).

Five sixteen p.m.

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Ten fifty two p.m.

I was just chatting with a friend of mine and we've both agreed on one thing, that Liv'pool fans have the natural ability to annoy you when United don't take all 3 points in any given match.

Just last week, when Everton equalised at Goodison Park, a friend of mine (Liv'pool fan mind you) stood up and started applauding, as though his team captain was lifting a trophy (what ever trophy that may be) when here I was, face in my hands, sick in the stomach. Proudly expressing his hatred towards United right in my ear.

This got me thinking, that these fellars actually do get alot more joy and pleasure watching United drop two or three points, alot more than Liv'pool winning a trophy let alone winning a match. It really is the sad truth to those out there who aren't aware of it. Support? I think not.

Hand on heart, in all honesty, I can say that yes, I do rejoice when rival teams fall (who doesn't?) but I never directly annoy them. Never have, never will. I have the utmost respect for rival teams, something most Red fans lack.

I ask why, oh why do you enjoy being such an obnoxious lot? A man once told me, ''True football fans are Liv'pool fans. They're the greatest side in Europe''. I wouldn't refute the second part, because yes they have won the Champions League a couple of years back and yes they do have history, I respect that but them being true fans? Bollocks. The Red fans I know today are as fake as a hookers smile. And this got me thinking, again, maybe it's not the success that annoys them, but rather the passion that we have that really hits a nerve with them. I personally think that it is the latter.

I can also safely say that ninety nine percent of them are A.B.U.s and dare they label us ''Typically United''. So, this is me being typically United: We're not arrogant, just better.

Eleven ten p.m.

Currently listening to: The cheer of the Stretford end as Berba's header nestles into the corner

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Six fifty five, May seventeenth, two thousand ten.

I have emerged victorious in my fight against an epic sore throat. Yesterday, a bee flew across me, and then just hovered directly in front of me for the longest time. I personally think it's due to the honey content in me. The honey can now be kept in the kitchen cabinet once again.

It's raining heavily, as heavy as it did yesterday and I somehow feel that the weather today almost has a nostalgic feel about it. I'm guessing it's one of those evening rains accompanied by the occasional thunder and lightning. I really am not describing it well enough. How glad I am that I do not need to be outdoors right now. Ah, the smell of rain. I've also just pulled the blinds so I can stare at the rain as it falls as I continue to hit the buttons on my laptop that makes alphabets appear on my screen so effortlessly. I study my play list, looking for tracks that will go along well with the nostalgic feel that has now completely surrounded my room. I am at peace.

Currently listening to: Angels - Sarah McLachlan

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Four thirty four pm, May fifteenth, two thousand ten.

I continue my fight against an infection like no other, well, I pretty much mean a sore throat (which I've had for the past four days) and today, I figured I needed some amoxicillin. I've probably drank a swimming pool, had so much honey, that if a bee were to fly by me, it'd bank sharply and fly right into me, chocked myself on vitamin c's, and slept a bear's winter. How do I feel? Like I did yesterday.

It's going to be a long, long summer, trapped in the far corner of Europe and a flight back only in four months, I have decided to dedicate myself to the art of ******* ** for the next four months. Well, there is what some would call ''a silver lining'', but that's only some ten days before I fly home, so technically, it's not so much of silver, but a lining none the less. I guess we can get to that when the time comes, or if I'm ever bothered to log in and tell you or myself how I feel then. I wouldn't count on it though.

It's odd how there are hundreds of people who are ''online'' on my list and yet I'm not at all bothered at muttering a simple hi or hello or, you get the point. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those lonely computer kids (no offence kids) who stare at their fifteen inch all day or one of those that have no friends at all. You would also (maybe not) like to know that I'm pissed bored out of my mind, hence my entry here today.

A friend once told me that, she doens't blog-hop anymore because according to her ''all people ever right about are rants, complaints and stuff to that extent.'' I find that quite true, because, why would you want to read up on other people's sorrows when you and I have trials and tribulations our own? I'm definitely not going to write about food because, well, I'm just not going to. Football? No. There's a long summer for that and I'm too tired about writing about it because if I was going to write about it, it definitely wouldn't be a positive one and I'd sound just like the managers who rant and complain at the media. I'd like to write about the people around me right now, but there's so much of ''controversy'' (to put it lightly) surrounding them right now, that I'd basically be  b*tch*ng on how they've done this or not that that. I still have a year and a half with those people, so let's put that away.

Four fifty three p.m. Still have no idea what I'd like to write but this feeling of typing away at nothing feels pretty good if I'm honest. It makes me feel like a writer just typing away the chronicles of his life for his next number one seller (as quite literally all the book covers would suggest that or if they don't, then it's just ''the writer of the best seller ...'' ).

Books. Yes. I could write about books. Honestly, I've not read as many as I'd like to have in the past 6 months. 3, a miserable 3, and 1 of them is the best I've read, so do  take me up on my advise and go get yourself a copy of Carlos Ruiz Zafon's  The Shadow Of The Wind. If you have read the book, bravo. The other 2 books are The Angel's Game also by Senor Carlos and The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga which was given to me as a gift from my girlfriend. There are a couple of books which I have been wanting to read but have had trouble finding them in a country where communism has destroyed all sense of culture and of course, English not being their first or even second language. Tip : Amazon.  Jeremy Clarkson writes some pretty comical stuff and definitely something I'd like to have a go at. The other book which I've been wanting to read is by an ex-Red Army top boy, Tony O'Neil, The Red Army General. This in particular has been eluding me everytime I come close to purchasing it, e.g. it being the last copy (which is half ruined) etc. Hmmmm. I think that's all I have on books. Pathetic attempt.

In about ten minutes, I'd scroll up, read everything I've written, tell myself it's rubbish, erase everything and not post it at all (something which has happened many, many times) or just close this whole window, but today, no, I'm not going to read and check it because today, I frankly don't give a damn!

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Nine eleven pm.

An airport, at a time, and onto another chapter - KUL to DXB to DME, DME to DXB and back to KUL, and on goes the cycle, twice a year, six years, twelve in total, and now at my seventh, i wonder just how many more trips across continents i can take, the same journeys, the same places, the same times, and the same thoughts that race through my mind, twice a year, six years, a horrible twelve in total, at every s-i-n-g-l-e journey. 

Nine twenty seven pm.

Currently listening to: Daughtry - It's not over