Bittersweet Adult-ing

College is the definition of love-hate relationships  

And I have seen youth melting its soul 

To keep the tussle kindled. 

I'm not a big fan of traditions 

But I religiously drag my friends to the library 

Only because we've mined books together

Ever since we found ourselves amongst high ceiling lecture halls

And I want to run these little errands

With them 

One last year. 

Back in the fresh semester,

I remember mischievously inking their arm blue

To hear a rumble 

That I'm stuck with them 

For three years. 

I avoided believing it

I've never been an expert at nurturing relations. 

In fact, repelled in the initial months

By unknown territory of preceding scholars,

I craved for every corner of my old school.

Inside the library, 

Kant and Freud kept trying 

To fire intellect into my brain 

While I stood puzzled, 

Wondering,

Whether the neurons are getting honed 

Or is it a plain attempt to annihilate intuitive creativity. 

Here, I've grown to watch mornings tear out two hours of sleep

To wait for three hours of productivity

And bombard cafeterias in the sixth hour. 

I make it a point 

To not have too much junk

Because replacing burgers with salads 

Empowers immature adulthood. 

And to avoid grains of salt 

Over a glee poem of appreciation,

I'll admit 

That existential crisis hits home. 

But when it does,

And I feel done trying to find a silver lining, 

My mate offers me, sweets, 

Which her grandfather sends down

From a dry mountain valley.  

As they melt inside my mouth

In the midst of half-written research papers, 

I finally feel at home 

And my naive heart 

Silently begins to treasure traditions 

Which I never used to be a fan of.