Gray.

Spread my wings and fly. That's a resolution I made prior to the finals which I had now gone through and bid farewell to. But wait a minute, where are the wings? And it certainly doesn't look like I'm flying at the moment. College life is a phase I initially was very thrilled to embark upon and when it didn't look like it's ever going to come to an end, I began dreading to continue and had been very anxious to make that giant sprint into something else. But now when the finishing line is within the sight, I dread leaving the path and am uncertain whether to make that turning into working life or that something else discreetly ingrained in my flickering heart.

Fascinating visuals brimming into my vision is one of the very few personal qualities I take a lot of pride of. When I go through a torrid time in real, the surreal life of mine takes it further and mortified the life I tricked myself into believing for an easier flow of sympathy I wage on myself. When it's the other way round, the illusion takes a turn and paints it all bright and sunny with me living a blissful life perhaps even companion-ed for my own gratification. But I cannot at the moment, picture myself in a life post-result day not for the obvious reason. Yes, it can go either way. The outcome may be very bad, or moderately good. I may be crying in tears for either of the two very polarised reasons. But no, that's not the source to my limping fantasising ability. Truth is, my life after college (or my degree course, to be precise) has it's very beautiful plan. But it's a plan sounding dubious if it's presented to the realists and overtly ambitious if it's fallen to the knowledge of my parents. Curiosity is endless on the plans of my friends because they always sound so do-able. I'm always hesitant in revealing mine. Even if I do end up saying something about it, it appears to be direction-less, heading nowhere. 

Which is why a lot of stake is weighed onto the three months I am supposed to savour to its limits. I dreamt miles and miles about it. I want to do this, I want to go here and there, I want to take up classes, I want to work here and I want to create a legion of stories to share with my to be colleagues or postgraduate mates. Yet nowhere near I am currently to that requisite first step to make all those take its place. I have done nothing to save it from being 'just another school break'.

Now that I think about it, the 3 months spent on being an awkward receptionist doesn't sound so futile anymore. At least my pocket gets deeper by each day I spent on daydreaming.