Lessons learnt in room 27

 Twenty seven,an obscure number in an equally obscure space designated the purpose of higher education.

Sitting here,one can hear the mechanical swish of the flurry of everyday activity,the metro going by,the corridors emptied out of students who have now entered classrooms,being mopped spotless. Leaves of frangipani trees stand lacquered in sunshine,outside the little square windows,as I learn nothing textbooks can teach.
 I discovered that caffeine is much like popular culture,if you can't consume it excessively,it isn't culture at all(So is tea an equivalent,because it's a statement the intellectual use to perpetuate their own subculture,but will probably not admit to) and almost nothing comes in one colour.Not people,not culture,not life.It's never only black,white,roseate.I realised the futility of hoping for somebody who tells you you're a colour they haven't imagined yet,because then,you're probably not a colour they welcome on their palette any longer.
You cannot belong to someone or some place,cannot fit in,because you're a dream not meant for a coffin or a skeleton to be tucked into a coffer box in a cupboard.
You are the colour of the wind-all embracing in its invisibility.
You need not be a youtube phenomena or a firebrand feminist to feel entitled to just feel the way you do,you need no validation to be too independent in your childlike demeanour to mould your life around the idea of an institution,to be outlined neatly with a cookie-cutter like label of this or that,because you can choose to be this,that or neither.
You are the colour no one can contain in words,disappointing and hopeful,alike.You are the colour you paint yourself with choices,a transcendent feeling.