This article is for when the social high fades and you suddenly need three days alone with your thoughts.
Freshers Month is basically the college’s annual welcome rave. New faces, themed nights at pubs around campus, random campus clubs and chapters’ recruitments, and so much music that your ears are still ringing in classes. But the confetti always settles. And when it does? You’re left with the emotional hangover: that post-social crash where your body craves hibernation, your brain replays every awkward dance move, and your soul whispers, “pls leave me alone for three days.”
And it’s not just freshers feeling it. Sophomores are stuck between wanting to gatekeep their clubs and realising they’re broke. Juniors are quietly spiraling between FOMO and internship deadlines. Seniors? They’re dancing while staring at the exit sign, acutely aware this is their last Fresher’s rodeo.
The emotional hangover isn’t just from alcohol (though yes, the shots you took didn’t help). It’s from the whiplash of going from max social battery drain to… silence. The quiet is loud, and suddenly you don’t know if you’re craving Maggi, a hug, or just 72 uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Freshers’ FOMO is undefeated.
Freshers are like caffeinated puppies: everywhere, all the time, desperate not to miss a moment. One day it’s your batch induction, next day it’s a talent night, then suddenly you’re at a random club orientation because someone handed you a flyer and said, “There’ll be free maaza.”
And it feels amazing… until it doesn’t. Because FOMO runs your life: you’re running from event to event like an unpaid influencer, terrified that missing one outing will exile you forever. Then the crash hits. You realise not every club will change your life, not every senior will remember your name, and not every group chat needs you typing “lmao” at 1 a.m.
The emotional hangover here? Pure exhaustion. And trust me: you’ll be fine if you miss a movie night. Your real friends will still be there, they might even thank you for finally admitting you’re tired.
Sophomore slump is a lifestyle.
Second-years are in their flop era. The sparkle of being a fresher is gone, but the gravitas of being a senior hasn’t arrived yet. You’re not the main character anymore; you’re the supporting cast. Which is humbling.
The sophomore emotional hangover is less about “OMG too many people” and more about “do I even like any of this?” You’ve seen the behind-the-scenes of clubs, the drama, the politics, the fact that half of “networking” is just sitting in Cheffie hoping people show up. You’re drained, but you also don’t want to miss out in case something iconic happens.
So you drag yourself to the party, knowing the DJ will play “Sirra” for the fifth time (the song that basically sounds like “meow meow” when you’re really not interested), and that you’ll be back by 9 p.m. scrolling through your Notes app wondering why you didn’t just stay in. That’s the sophomore emotional hangover: stuck between not wanting to go, and not wanting to miss what you didn’t even want in the first place.
Juniors are fighting LinkedIn and loneliness.
Juniors have it rough. Half the batch now has executive positions, posting selfies with the caption “new chapter (literally) 💌,” while the other half is working on resumes like they’re the next Elon. You? You’re just here, sitting in AB2, wondering if you should go for the fresher’s afterparty or finally update your LinkedIn headline.
The emotional hangover for juniors is double-sided. You’re nostalgic for your own Fresher’s era when everything was new, but also stressed because you can hear the corporate drumbeat getting louder. You want to dance at the club, but you also want to cry about internship deadlines. You crave one last reckless night out, but your Gmail notifications are haunting you.
The result: burnout meets loneliness. The party feels emptier, the silence feels heavier, and suddenly your entire personality is just opening and closing your Gmail app.
Seniors are holding back tears at the bar.
This is the hangover that hurts. Seniors know it’s the last lap. Every fresher’s party they attend is a reminder that the cycle continues, but not for them. The emotional hangover here isn’t just tiredness. It’s grief.
They don’t come to club meetings anymore, and if they do it feels like a farewell tour. Every party could be the last one with the full squad. Even the worst DJ set suddenly feels sacred because it might be the last time you scream “Hari patti aankhe laal… Manipal Manipal” with your batchmates.
Seniors aren’t just hungover. They’re mourning a chapter that’s about to close. The emotional hangover lingers longer, hits harder, and comes with the realisation that no amount of Red Bull can keep you from growing up.
The cure for emotional hangovers isn’t sleep, it’s honesty.
Here’s the thing: no amount of blackout curtains will fix an emotional hangover. What helps is admitting it. Admit that you’re drained. Admit that you don’t want to meet people for a while. Admit that your soul needs Maggi, memes, and three days of Netflix.
Because the cycle never ends, there will always be another fresher’s event, another club night, another invite. But you don’t have to say yes every time. You’re allowed to recharge. You’re allowed to skip. And you’re allowed to feel sad that the high faded.
The cure is honesty. With yourself, with your friends, with your body. Rest. The vibes will return when you’re ready, and next time, you’ll enjoy them more because you gave yourself space to breathe.
Want more chaotic chronicles, caffeine-fuelled confessions, and campus survival cheat codes? Slide into Her Campus at MUJ. And if you’re wondering who dared to romanticise an emotional hangover like it’s a Greek tragedy, visit Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ for more.
Here’s to skipped lectures, WhatsApp ghosting, and the courage to say “I need to hermit for 72 hours.” Because at MUJ, the real flex isn’t how many events you went to; it’s knowing when to take the break.