If I had to describe college in two words, I'd say it's a new world.
Yes, it has people in it—just like the regular world—but it's a lot more than that. It's a place where nobody tells you what to do, yet everything is expected of you. A place where nobody cares if you were taught well at home or not. A place where everyone is treated like an adult, regardless of their age.
It's interesting.
You can do whatever you like—but you have to be ready to face the consequences of your actions.
It feels like a bridge.
A bridge between childhood and society.
And somehow, I found myself walking across it.
For the first time in a long while, I felt free.
I could do whatever I wanted without anyone restricting me. No one was watching me, questioning me, or trying to figure me out. Everyone minded their business, and I liked that.
I really did.
School had fully resumed, and I had to start attending classes properly. I tried to pay attention, but nothing in class interested me. The lectures felt dull, almost meaningless. I would sit there, staring ahead, hearing the lecturer's voice but not really listening.
Some classes were worse than others.
Confusing.
Draining.
Pointless.
At some point, I stopped trying as hard.
Not completely—but enough to notice.
Still, not everything about school was bad.
There was one part I actually looked forward to.
Practicals.
For some reason, they felt different. More real. More engaging. It wasn't just about listening—it was about doing. Thinking. Figuring things out.
And during practicals, something unusual happened.
I wasn't bothered by people.
It was like they didn't exist.
My focus shifted completely to the task in front of me, and for once, I wasn't overwhelmed by the presence of others.
Before I realized it, I had become a group leader.
Not just once.
But multiple times.
It didn't make sense to me. I wasn't outspoken. I didn't try to lead. I didn't even try to stand out.
But somehow, I always did.
People listened when I spoke.
They followed when I gave instructions.
And for a moment, it felt… nice.
Like I belonged somewhere.
But that feeling never lasted.
As soon as the practical sessions ended, I wanted to leave. To go back to my hostel, where it was quiet—where I could be alone.
Too many people exhaust me.
It's hard to explain.
It's like my mind becomes too aware of everything—the voices, the movements, the presence of others. Even when no one is paying attention to me, it feels like they are.
So I leave.
Every time.
Back to my space.
Back to silence.
Back to myself.
It became a routine.
Classes.
Practicals.
Isolation.
And strangely, I was okay with it.
At least, I thought I was.
Until I got invited to my first party.
It was my friend—the persistent one.
Of course, it was him.
I agreed to go, not because I wanted to, but because I felt like I should. Like it was something I needed to experience at least once.
The party was… different.
At first, it was actually fun.
There was music, laughter, people moving freely without thinking too much about anything. For a moment, I tried to blend in. I observed, listened, even smiled a little.
It didn't feel so bad.
But as time went on, something changed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
The crowd started to feel heavier.
The noise became louder—not just around me, but inside my head.
I became uncomfortable.
Restless.
Aware.
Too aware.
I think I'm suffering from anthropophobia. Or maybe I'm just making excuses for something I don't understand.
The fear of people.
It sounds strange, even to me.
I knew everyone was focused on the party, doing their own thing, but it didn't feel that way.
It felt like I was the center of attention.
Like every movement I made was being watched.
Every step.
Every glance.
Every breath.
I knew it didn't make sense.
But I couldn't stop feeling it.
My chest tightened.
My thoughts became louder.
And suddenly, the party didn't feel fun anymore.
It felt suffocating.
I needed to leave.
So I did.
I didn't say much. I didn't explain. I just left.
The moment I stepped outside, it felt like I could breathe again.
I went back to my hostel, dropped a text for my friend just in case he was looking for me, and locked myself in.
Something about that night changed things.
It made my already isolated life worse.
I stopped going out.
No classes.
No church.
No gatherings.
Just me.
Inside.
Always inside.
I adjusted my routine just to avoid people.
I would wake up early to fetch water before anyone else was out. I asked my friend to help get my essentials when I needed them.
And he did.
They all did.
My friends respected my space. They didn't force conversations. They didn't question me too much. They just checked up on me once in a while through texts.
And somehow…
That made it easier.
Time passed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Before I knew it, it was time for my first examination in college.
Deep down, I knew I wasn't prepared.
I tried to catch up, but it wasn't easy. I had lost touch with my books, and trying to understand everything at once felt overwhelming.
So I slowed down.
Step by step.
That was the only way I could manage it.
There wasn't enough time—but I did what I could.
I knew I did well in at least two subjects.
The others?
I wasn't so sure.
At that point, I left it to God.
There was nothing more I could do.
After the exams, we were given a break.
And honestly…
I didn't want to go home.
Because at home, everything becomes real again.
The silence.
The absence.
The reminder that my mom is gone.
And I'm still trying to figure out what I'm supposed to feel about that.