On 20 November 2014, I attended the last ever lecture of my college life. Over the next few days, consciously and sometimes subconsciously, I was aware of the “last” time I would be doing certain things, saying certain things, meeting certain people. The last lecture, the last pen-and-paper exam, the last day at college, the last stroll around the campus, the last visit to every corner of the campus, the last tea in the cafeteria… the last day of living in the hostel, the last memories with friends.
There are of course new things to look forward to. A new job, a new life. But the truth is that I was terrified; terrified of leaving that comfortable place that I had grown to call home. I was afraid of not being a student anymore, not belonging to that wonderful university anymore. I was afraid of growing up, and going out . I was afraid of finding out that life turns out to be very different from what I imagined it to be. I was scared of looking back one day and smile ruefully at my Plans, with a capital P. I still am.
I know all of this is as clichéd as possible. I’m sure every single student goes through the exact same thing. Every college churns out tons of nervous/excited/naïve new adults every year, by the batches. I’m sure every one of these people find their way about. And yet, I don’t know it. For myself. I’m afraid of stumbling through unknown mazes.
It comforts me that there is technically one more semester to go, even if I am doing an internship off campus. Although I won’t be living in the hostel, it is a relief that I can visit sometimes. It is true that I love the idea of new beginnings. But for now, I cannot help but focus on the strings that yet tie me to the university. I cannot help but cherish the small moments of my student life, one last time.