Summer break used to be synonymous with rest and excitement… when I was a 15-year-old kid with no real stress in the world except the unbearable wait for the new season of Bridgerton to come out on Netflix. But for a nineteen-year-old “semi-adult” like me, stuck in between the duality of my life as a college student and my last year as a “teen”, summer break feels daunting.
The first few days of summer are always an absolute delight. I finally get to sleep in without waking up to obnoxiously loud alarms or having those “dang it! I’ve run out of toothpaste” panic episodes 5 minutes before an 8.30 am class. No more early morning rounds of revision before a midterm or having to deal with a grumbling stomach in between classes, all because I tried (and failed miserably) to adjust to Krea’s breakfast timings. For once, I can afford to succumb to the temptation of staying in bed without having to worry about missing a meal.
Along with my mind, my phone also goes into a quiet respite. My alarm app goes into hibernation mode. My emails, once flooded with ERP attendance reminders and “your assignment has been graded” Canvas notifications, gradually come to a standstill. After alternating between being an academic weapon or an academic victim for months, I finally get a chance to indulge in the pure, mundane laziness of summer break.
At home, I get to break free from the conformity of university lectures and time-bound commitments. I finally derive pleasure from agency and the freedom to bend time exactly to my liking.Â
The very next day, I wake up at 11 for a late breakfast and head out for a leisurely afternoon walk. The Swiggy guy, promoted from a mere passerby to a now-regular guest, rings the doorbell at precisely 7pm. Remote in one hand and a freshly ordered California Burrito bowl in the other, I switch on the TV, motivated to maintain my movie marathon streak.Â
Two days pass by. Three. And then a week. By Sunday, I’ve exhausted my weekly quota of Swiggy orders. I’ve finished every movie from my carefully curated Netflix watchlist. The weather turns stifling, and suddenly, I have a personal vendetta against the sun.Â
Total utility set to the max. Marginal utility diminishes to zero.
You’re midway through an engrossing binge-watching session when you abruptly hit the space bar button. And this time, it’s not a crazy plot twist that makes you pause. But a feeling of guilt that slowly creeps in—at the expense of all the time that could be spent doing something more “productive”. Should I make some progress on that course I left abruptly? Clean my Google Drive? Work on building my CV? Wait, I should have read a book instead!!Â
And slowly, it hits you: the real cost of summer is the discomfort that comes with forgoing the next best alternative you can think of.
Right when your mind starts doing somersaults, you turn to a rather unique way to make up for your sudden idleness as a side effect of academic detachment.Â
Internships.
Initially, my mind lights up at the prospect of learning something new outside the realm of teachers and textbooks. With my laptop on the desk, fully charged, and a small paper cup filled with a bitter latte extracted from a nearby machine, I proceed to stare at the screen for the next 6 hours.
But when the shots of caffeine wear off after you realize you’ve finished what was supposed to be a full-day task in less than three hours, you start to question everything. You dread walking up early, get exhausted while travelling to and fro, and feel extremely overwhelmed when the office starts filling up with thousands of people twice your age.
First, I start to miss the comfort of home. And then proceed to spend the next 10 minutes fantasizing about a nice, long vacation to Bali, far away from the 9-to-5 claustrophobia of a crowded co-working space. Suddenly, the trade-off seems a little too enticing.Â
But amidst all the ups and downs of summer break boredom, I find myself remembering Krea.Â
It’s strange. Just weeks ago, I was desperate to escape early morning lectures and rigid schedules. And now, I find myself missing the very things I once complained about—the comfort of routine, the rewarding experience of academic rigor, socializing over long perimeter walks, and even the air-conditioned rooms that feel like a luxury I took for granted. Because in college, everything seems to balance itself out perfectly.Â
Maybe that’s the real economics of summer break.
At first, we maximize rest. Then we exhaust it. Somewhere along the way, the opportunity cost flips, until doing nothing starts to feel more expensive than doing something.
And just like that, the break we once longed for soon becomes something we’re ready to leave behind.