One Sunny Day
When the sun is out, it usually becomes a bit more bearable to have it over the shoulder, but close to two third of days in a year rains in Vancouver. What on earth has she chosen the city, a question she hardly ever skips to ask to herself every day. At one point, she gave up murmuring it as it was certain no one would hear or even care about that.
As if everyone has collectively hypnotised, the campus was filled with those who poured out from their offices and mindlessly wondered around, like zombies.. Suddenly, she wondered why all seemed to hold a tint of smile on their faces. Was it because they felt they were obliged to because everyone else held smile? Or did they truly feel overly exuberating as they looked?
"Who cares.." whimpered she cynically. Personally, it took a while for her to recall when exactly she was able to laugh so hard that she felt uncontrollable to subdue the sound unwantedly coming out from my month?? Couldn't answer that at the top of her mind for a good few minutes.
Suddenly, she felt like crying. Probably she would if the sun wasn't that shiny and the campus wasn't that filled with people with those fake smiles. "Let it rain", she silently muttered.
In a split second, the old surge of memories from the years back banged the back of her head. The year that she graduated from the college.
Armed with hope, unstoppable passion and determination that she was so sure she would get them all. Everything seemed so reachable and she was ready to compromise whatever takes to obtain them. However what waited for her outside the Ivory Tower weren't facile enough to allow an inexperienced and naive youth to trespass its domain without having her to pay. And the tragedy was she wasn't aware of any of it. Decades passes by, and one sunny day, she was stunned to find herself in the very same place where she was in twelve years ago.
Felt beaten up, tired, but still so far from throwing a white handkerchief. She just knows the harder it strikes, the more formidable she gets; she always has.
