Sitting in Starbucks@Utown, I feel like I'm a part of this force – of poor students dragging themselves through layers of textbooks, notes and readings. It is somewhat nostalgic, although I question myself on whether I ever did study with the same dogged determination when I was an undergrad.

There is comfort in commiserating in misery. It may be perverse but it is no less legitimate. Wafts of the smell of coffee fill the air as I sip my green tea latte sans sugar. Life is good. Or is it? When you have nerves bubbling beneath the surface and thoughts of blacking out in the exam hall, the enjoyment of the cafe experience is a tenuous one. Sure, you're focused on the task at hand, drinking an "adult" beverage while absorbing intellectual jargon you'd never use IRL. You feel all grown-up. But in reality, you're shifting in your seat every 2 seconds, allowing guilt to build each time you click on the Instagram app. Who am I kidding? I am not studying, I am play-studying. What's worse, I am passing for an NUS student.

In two weeks, this will be over. I certainly will not miss the pain of memorizing words that hold no meaning. But I suspect I might miss pretending to be a twenty-something with youthful idealism; carrying on a love-hate relationship with Starbucks. Oh well, I guess I can look forward to the same shit next semester – that is, if I pass.