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Cold, Cough Drops, Chai and a Little Bit of Chaos : A Collection Of Diary Entries From The First Time I Fell Sick in College

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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ashoka chapter.

By: Khushi Sethi

Edited by: Malavika Kishore 

Dear diary, 

It’s getting cold and the sun is setting early. Everything feels so gloomy, like the world itself has pulled on a grey sweater. It’s funny how back at home, I used to love winters but here in the hostel, I am not so fond of it. I should probably dig out my sweaters and socks before the cold turns me into its next victim. Can’t have a nasty cold sneaking in, not with finals around the corner.

Dear Diary, 

I barely made it to class today. The winter snuggles in bed with my emotional support teddy bear was way too comforting, and leaving felt like I was going to a war I’d never return from. Nevertheless, I’m short on attendance so I did push myself. Surviving on a cup of black coffee and a lonely banana, I can’t stop thinking about home. My mom used to make me warm soup every evening during winters. I could get soup from the mess, but somehow it tastes more like disappointment than comfort.

Dear Diary, 

Classic me—I went for a walk at 10 PM last night because I hadn’t hit my daily steps, and guess what? I forgot to wear socks. Now I have a bit of a temperature. It’s nothing serious, I hope, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Finals are looming, and I have zero time to entertain a cold. I haven’t told Mom and Dad about it yet; they’d insist I come home immediately and turn this into a family emergency. I’m a big girl, right? I can handle a little fever. Or at least, I’ll pretend I can for now.

Dear Diary, 

Okay now the fever has been accompanied by a scratchy throat and a blocked nose. I feel utterly miserable and I don’t have the energy to drag myself to the mess to eat food, which I had to do. I caved and had the mess’s infamous tomato soup, even though I’ve sworn my allegiance to hating it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? They say soup is elixir for the soul, but I’m pretty sure ramen could achieve the same result with a side of joy. Tomorrow, ramen it is. At least it tastes like happiness in a bowl.

Dear Diary, 

I failed to get out of bed today. I missed three classes, and my friends had to bang on the door to make sure I was still alive. Honestly, I didn’t even have the energy to open it. Lying here, cocooned in misery, I miss everything about home—Mom’s endless fussing, Dad’s warm hugs, and the simple comfort of knowing that someone’s there to take care of you. I’m done pretending to be an independent adult. I don’t want to girlboss through this. I just want to go home, crawl into my bed, and feel like a kid again.

Dear Diary, 

I have finally told my parents I am sick. They proceeded to give me 100 instructions, I promise this is not an over-exaggeration at all. I have been told to not go to the gym, bathe with hot water daily, take steam and consume what feels like the entire pharmacy. How am I supposed to do that myself? I am just a girl who has an annoying viral fever and wants to sleep all day in bed and watch a classic 90’s rom-com. I really need to focus on my research paper. Forget about medicines, I need to learn how to do APA citations first. I have to lock in. 

Dear Diary, 

So I did not lock in. I actually took some medicine and dropped dead on my bed.I barely woke up to eat the food my friend brought me from the mess. Half-asleep, I couldn’t help but think of Dad. He used to tuck me in when I was sick, staying by my side until I drifted off. I miss waking up to Mom’s hot tea and her gentle insistence that I take “just one more spoonful” of whatever homemade remedy for fever she’d whipped up.The thought of going home comforts me, but the idea of enduring the long journey makes me shudder.

Dear Diary, 

Hostel life is a masterclass in survival. Today, I had to wash my utensils, and the icy water made my fingers feel like they belonged to an ice sculpture. I also discovered that I don’t know how to breathe anymore. I saw a seven minute youtube tutorial on this. But then I used some nasal drops and rediscovered how to breathe. 

Dear Diary,

Okay, a new crisis today. Whenever I utter even a single word I sound like a broken radio. The electric kettle in the pantry broke. So, to get myself some warm water, I have to walk till the other side of the residence hall. I don’t want to get my steps in right now, universe. Thank you for the concern. I haven’t even done the laundry so I’m running out of fresh socks.

Dear Diary, 

My friend suggested I try herbal tea to “cleanse my vibes.” I don’t even know what that means, but I went along with it. Spoiler: it tasted like wet grass. I miss chai. Real chai with ginger, cardamom, and the love only a roadside chaiwala can infuse. Hostel life has me questioning everything. I thought about ordering chai from the canteen, but then I remembered the last time I did, and it was just sweet, pale water. Maybe I should learn how to make it myself? Or is that the sickness talking?

Dear Diary, 

Today, the sun peeked out for a few hours, and it felt like a miracle. I dragged my blanket to the balcony, plopped onto a chair, and let the warmth seep into my bones.I made a to-do list today, and it’s staring at me like a judgmental parent. Finals prep, research paper, laundry, buy medicine, and somehow figure out how to survive. I crossed off “drink water,” so technically, I’ve achieved something.

Dear Diary,

I’m finally on the mend, and it feels like emerging from within a long, dark tunnel. My energy is returning, my appetite is back, and I even went to class without feeling like I was dragging myself to my doom. I’m officially back to semi-functioning human status—studying, stressing over deadlines, and procrastinating—but with a quieter appreciation for the small things. Winter is still cold, and the sun still sets way too early, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. Life might not come with warm soup from Mom or perfectly tucked blankets from Dad, but it does come with friends who share their snacks and laugh at your whining. So here’s to surviving, thriving (ish), and maybe even learning how to embrace this whole “adulting” thing—one cozy sock at a time. 

Much love, 

Me

Khushi Sethi

Ashoka '28

Khushi is the type of person you’ll find either lost in her favorite playlist or tapping away on her typewriter like it’s still the 80s.She’s got this deep love for the universe and loves getting lost in philosophical talks—whether it’s about the stars, fate, or the meaning of a random Tuesday. For her, art is everything and it’s everywhere. It’s in the little things—her curated Pinterest boards, her grandmother’s cozy knit collection, or even the love letters she stumbled upon in her aunt’s closet (yes, she read them, and no, she doesn’t regret it). She’s the kind of person who wants to do it all—explore every passion, every adventure, every little corner life has to offer. The thought of missing out on something? Yeah, that keeps her awake some nights. But she’s learned to go with the flow, living by Naina’s words to Bunny: "Jitna bhi try bro, life me kuch na kuch to chutega hi, to jaha hai vaha ka maza lete hai." It’s all about enjoying the moment for her. And if you’re ever around, be prepared—she’ll probably whip out her phone to show you about a hundred photos of her pets. It’s just what she does!