When I was 18, I had just finished my board exams and had absolutely no idea what was next. Everyone around me seemed to have a plan—law, design school, IAS, or something else entirely. I watched my friends preparing for competitive exams all year, stressing and working tirelessly. But me? I was just trying to survive the boards. I was overthinking everything with no real solution. Panicking internally but smiling when someone asked, “What’s your plan after boards?” and giving vague answers like, “….Journalism… I guess.” I wasn’t even sure why I said that. I imagined doing something meaningful, something that allowed creativity and novelty. But the moment those dreams tried to become real—when someone asked me to “show my writing” or “join that art competition”—I panicked. I feared failing—or worse, trying and realizing I wasn’t good enough.
IN-BETWEEN DAYS AT 18
Eighteen was a strange year. The chaos of boards was barely over before CUET came knocking. (I just gave exams—what do you mean I have to study everything again?) All the while, the question “What now?” lived rent-free in my head. I spent that summer in limbo—refreshing college portals, applying while half-confused, answering exhausting questions like, “What’s the plan now?” by saying “I’m figuring it out.” (Translation: I had no clue.)
While everyone else seemed to be sprinting into something—entrance coaching, career bootcamps, side hustles—I took a different path. I used my break not to stress about “staying ahead,” but to learn things that made me curious. I started swimming, simply because I’d always wanted to. I learned to drive, even though I was scared of speed. I just wanted to know if I could do it. I picked up small skills, explored ideas, and let myself try things without needing them to be “productive.”
Eventually, I realised something: there’s nothing wrong with not rushing. Not knowing isn’t wrong. Going with the flow is okay too. And yes, being on your second tub of ice cream on a Wednesday? Still okay. (Though I’m not entirely sure about that last one.)
When college finally started, I had no grand expectations. Honestly, I was just hoping to survive orientation without crying or accidentally joining a club I’d later regret.
ONE STEP AT A TIME
When people say “fresh start,” they make it sound like this substantial cathartic moment from which everything suddenly goes right. For me, it was more like a pilot of a new show. It was like meeting a bunch of new characters, not knowing the roles yet, and praying it turns out well. I didn’t enter college with a vision board. I wasn’t expecting to thrive or just instantly find “my people.” I just wanted to survive the transition without feeling like I was falling behind everyone else.
 I was fully prepared to be a background character. I assumed I’d sit in the back, take notes, avoid eye contact, and go back to binge-watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S for the zillionth time. But strangely, it was not as bad as I thought.
For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I had to prove anything. No grades to chase, no career to justify—just figuring out where to sit in the mess without looking awkward.
BECOMING COMFORTABLE IN MY SKIN
Something about a new place, and new people brings out a more comfortable side in yourself. There were no labels attached to me—no “quiet girl,” no “overachiever,” no predefined role I had to play. It gave me room to just be myself. I stopped looking for a familiar face the moment I walked into class. I didn’t need someone beside me to feel comfortable. And when someone said, “I read your piece—it was really good,” I didn’t laugh it off or downplay it with a self-deprecating joke. I smiled and said, “thank you.” That was huge for me.
And no, I didn’t suddenly become bold or fearless or the life of every room. I’m still quiet. Still unsure. But I no longer see it as something to apologize for or as a flaw to fix.
MAYBE THAT’S ENOUGH
This year didn’t give me all the answers but it helped me get more comfortable with the uncertainty. At 18, I thought I had to have it all figured out. I still don’t have a fixed direction. My days aren’t perfectly structured, and I haven’t figured out a foolproof routine. But I’m less hard on myself now. I do things without overthinking where they’ll lead.
I didn’t become a new person overnight. I still second-guess things and listen more than I speak. But I’ve learned that taking your time doesn’t mean you’re lazy or lost — it means you’re choosing purpose over impulse. It’s choosing progress that doesn’t always look loud or linear.
And maybe that’s enough.
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