... And after a night's sleep, the world auto-recalibrates itself.

I once read something in a fantasy book that I agree with. People tend to drag goodbyes out, until they become sad, depressing affairs. Rather, goodbyes should be short, brisk affairs, never dragged on longer than they should be. And in contrast, greetings should be the ones cherished, the moment prolonged for as long as possible, an occasion for rejoicing.

Finally moved room, though I regret it dearly. The new cramped room I'm holed up in makes a blast furnace feel cool. The move itself was a terribly complicated and messy procedure, which took me the greater part of the day, not to mention about 2 days before simply in preparation, like packing. 7 trips back and forth the old and new rooms, not only monotonous but also labour-intensive. It went alright though, and I managed it alone (with the help of a trusty trolley) (the brand was Prestar - Made in Japan. I spent the greater part of the day staring at the ground, and consequently, the logo, while pushing it), despite the sheer amount of stuff (I'm estimating about ~300kg between a distance of 500m). The reason it went okay was due to the fact that it somehow, at least, managed to engage my brain, in planning the most efficient load makeup required in order to move all the items in the least possible number of trips. Turned into a game of sorts, and stopped me from killing myself in boredom.

One of the boxes (the heaviest one, with books), collapsed off the trolley in the middle of the carpark road during the 4th trip, emptying about 50kg of books and paper onto the floor, broken box to boot. A Malay man helped me out though, if only just to lift a finger. After 5 minutes, it was all I needed to remedy the situation, and thankfully someone provided it.

According to the management, I was supposed to have been able to receive help in moving my stuff over. However, when I went to the desk in order to proceed with the check-out and enquire about help with my room, I was not only surprised to be attended to by two security guards, but was also shocked that they (somewhat nervously, in hindsight) denied the existence of any such "service" provided. Then in walked the man I've been liaising with himself, who gave me the news that I would have to move rooms, personally. To cut the long story short, guess who the "workers" were supposed to be?

Which leads me to this realisation: does the initial perception of ones status in first impressions really make that huge a difference on dealings with the same people after that, despite knowing their true place? In this case, I couldn't bring myself to call back to the check-out office and ask those two security guards to come down and help me move my things, having first been introduced to them when they helped me handle my check-out administration. Perhaps in my mind, albeit arbitrarily, they filed in a higher social status that I'd have expected a "worker" moving my things would have. In addition, I doubt I'd be able to summon the courage to ask any "worker" to move my things for me had I known him personally, even as an acquaintence, or even carried a conversation with him. It's much easier to be interpersonal and ignore the fact that we're all equals, all human in this race, isn't it, especially when ordering another to do work possibly accomplished by oneself? Is our society still truly hierarchical under it's facade of equality and democracy? Or is it just me?

New phone ftw.

Watched Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist with the girl, and definitely recommend it to anyone who wants to finally see a movie that doesn't portray love as some idealistic, perfect thing, but rather something imperfect, something awkward, but ultimately something human. The most human, realistic love story I've ever seen really. Anyone who's liked the movies I've occasionally recommended, and likes a take of a slice of ordinary life, with it's bits of awkwardness and love icing on the top, this one's worth your while.

I should go, got sleep to catch up on. I can't sleep properly on planes for nuts, instead wading dreamily through the twilight zone, misted over with headache and pressure irregularities.