Edited by: Priyal Mittal
“The Night We Met”- Lord Huron
(The car pulls out of the parking lot and the playlist begins with a bittersweet song that feels like the perfect goodbye anthem.)
We all know this moment. The one where you have triple checked if you packed everything you need, hugged your roommate for the fifth time, and still can’t shake the feeling that you’ve forgotten something. But what you’re really forgetting can’t be packed- it’s the magic of everyday college life that is about to be paused for a few weeks.
Montage: Hugging your friends goodbye, the kind where neither of you wants to let go first. Someone yells from a distance, “Text me when you land and don’t forget to join the group call next week!” while you’re already pulling your suitcase across the uneven gravel.
They say goodbye like they’re reading from a script we’ve all somehow memorized, but never rehearsed. It’s funny how your definition of ‘home’ starts to blur.
“Counting Stars” – OneRepublic
(The beat picks up and you’re already halfway through a highway stretch, your hair whipping in the wind as you lean against the window.)
Semester breaks aren’t just about leaving; they are about remembering. The highway stretches ahead as the familiar campus landmarks fade into the distance. Half your suitcase is full of dirty laundry (because some college traditions never die) and your mind is full of promises to keep in touch.
Montage: The scene shifts to the mess earlier that morning. A group of friends crowds around their usual table, all pretending this breakfast isn’t different from their hundreds of other shared meals. They’re louder than usual (which is somehow possible), as if volume alone could extend these final moments.
You tell yourself you’ll keep in touch, that you’ll facetime every other day, but you know how it goes. Life has a way of speeding up when you’re apart. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and suddenly you’re back, trying to catch up like no time passed at all. But those weeks feel long while you’re in them, don’t they?
“Viva la Vida” – Coldplay
(You’re sitting at the airport terminal, backpack on lap, and the boarding announcement plays just as you look at a notification that says ‘roomie sent you a reel.’)
Funny how the smallest things remind you of the people you leave behind. A meme, a song, or even an empty seat beside you. You feel it all: the exhaustion from finals, the excitement of going back home while leaving your other home behind. You’re here and you’re there, suspended between two versions of home.
Montage: The airport is buzzing, as chaotic as my thoughts. A classic airport coffee cup makes its cameo, followed by the universal ritual of frantically looking for my gate while pretending I’m a seasoned traveller.
There’s something about flying home that feels unreal. Somewhere between the overpriced sandwich and the in-flight safety announcement, I realise that semester goodbyes aren’t just about leaving a place. They’re about leaving a version of yourself behind- the one who survives exams, late-night breakdowns, post-Thursday night blues, and the occasional existential crisis.
“Ribs” – Lorde
(The lyrics kick in as the camera zooms in on your face, engulfed in the glow of your phone screen.)
You relive every high and low of the semester. You think about the goodbyes you said just hours ago. How some were heartfelt and some were rused. The ‘see you soons’ that felt real and the ones that felt like placeholders.
Montage: You scrolling through your camera roll- spontaneous dancing in a tiny room with LED lights, staring at grades on your laptop screen and shutting it immediately, the time when someone set off the fire alarm while making ramen at 3am.
There’s this ache that comes with goodbyes. It’s not sadness exactly- it’s something quieter and softer. It’s the kind of ache that reminds you how much you love what you’re leaving behind. The flight is both too long and too short, much like the semester itself. The plane begins its descent and you feel the familiar rush of excitement as the landscape below morphs into something you recognize. Home.
“Homecoming” – Kanye West, Chris Martin
(You’re nearing your house now. The playlist shifts to nostalgia as you take in the familiar streets, the other houses you’ve crossed a thousand times.)
And then, just like that, you’re home. As you pull up to the house, the door opens and you’re greeted with the kind of hugs that make you realise just how much you’ve missed being home. There’s a familiar scent in the air- part spices, part nostalgia. The dog wags his tail like he’s been waiting for you to come back for years, not months.
Montage: You enter your house and slowly examine the pictures your mother changed on the staircase wall, she calls out your name to join everyone at the dinner table, and you finally feel like nothing has changed.
But there’s something different about coming home after college, isn’t it? The bed feels smaller, the walls feel closer. You are not quite the same person you were when you left and it takes a minute to adjust. You find your room crammed with things you swore you could not live without but haven’t thought about in months. And yet, it still feels like home.
“Young Dumb & Broke” – Khalid
(You’re lying in bed now, the room dark except for the glow of your phone screen. You’re scrolling mindlessly and you land on a photo of your friends back on campus.)
The thing about semester breaks is that they are like a reset. A pause button in the middle of a fast-forward life. But pauses can be lonely sometimes. Because no matter how good it feels to be home, there’s always a part of you that misses the noise, the chaos, the you the you are when you’re surrounded by people who just get it.
Montage: Everything slows down, a soft smile appears on your face as you type out a message on your group chat.
“Miss you guys already. Who’s back first next semester?”
“Take me Home, Country Roads” – John Denver
(The montage ends where it began: a car pulling out of the driveway, heading toward an unknown destination. Only this time, it’s you driving back to campus, ready to start again.)
Every goodbye feels like a movie ending. But every return? That’s where every sequel begins.