I have a love-hate relationship with holidays. I like the promise of lazy mornings, naturally waking up when the sun's rays shine onto the covers on my bed. I like opening my eyes and squinting at the tiny specks of dust dancing in the sunlight. I don't mind breakfast at eleven, and lunch at two. I wouldn't even complain if I had more than a few other snacks in between. After all, the kitchen is simply mere steps away.

HO-LI-DAY. Feel the sounds roll over your tongue. Listen, even the pronunciation of the word itself exudes a sense of languor.

I couldn't recall when my impression of holidays changed. Was it in high school? Or did it only start getting associated with the single most-dreaded noun ever known to the student population - EXAMS - after I had started college?

Natural wake-ups are a thing of the past. Occasional luxuries that I barely get to enjoy. When was the last time I had a full 8-hour sleep? When did a day go by without me having academics-related thoughts running through my mind?

I've spent the past week or so in a strange monochrome haze, unwittingly following a clockwork-like schedule. Occasionally, as I stared at my notes, my mind would drift, thinking of could-haves and should-haves. I would absentmindedly doodle getaway locations on my A4 paper, and smile wistfully after realising what I had inadvertently written.

Perhaps I really do deserve a break.

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