That moment was when I began to sense the beginning of the end, and nostalgia, reflections, and past memories started hitting harder.

When I got enrolled at the University of Dhaka, the feeling was surreal. I can still recall every moment from that time. Though more than three years have passed, it feels like yesterday. I was excited, anxious, filled with enthusiasm and vigour. Over time, the enthusiasm frayed, the vigour fluctuated, and the excitement was revealed in many unexpected ways.

In the beginning, surviving in a new city was a tough battle. I grappled with sudden financial responsibilities. Adapting to one of the most unliveable cities, searching for financial stability, confronting a new academic environment, and coping with an elite circle of friends all at once felt overwhelming. A boy in his early twenties, living far from home, battling a myriad of hurdles, yet telling his mother over the phone that he was doing absolutely fine. How ruthless the ride has been!

Now, when I look back, these are the moments that reinforce my belief that surmounting high barriers may seem arduous initially, even though it gets bearable with time and the right effort. I am grateful that uncertainty did not bend or break me. Rather, it shaped me and introduced me to a version of myself who does not panic when uncertainty looms.

After settling down a bit (believing that I did), the next phase unfolded: I slowly started making friends. We hung out, posted pictures on social media, highlighted eclectic moments, and tried to live the university life I had once imagined. But what I did not post were the fights, the distance, the heartbreak, and the groups getting smaller. As a child, I had imagined university to be colourful and joyous; I did not know it would also teach detachment.

Now we are in a different race. Too busy. Less concerned about hanging out, more focused on the next internship, postgraduate preparation, career plans, or marrying the person who just feels perfect.

Then reality hit, and the career question left me uneasy. I stepped out and tried to do something meaningful to fill the blank spaces on my CV. Part-time gigs, to be specific. The shift felt quite overwhelming. Moving from structured assignments and fixed curricula to tight deadlines, new communication styles, and figuring out how to get things done on my own (thanks to ChatGPT and YouTube).

That was when I clearly saw the difference between classrooms and cubicles. That was the time I realised magic starts right in the classrooms, but magic happens beyond the classrooms. Finally, the BBA concepts and theories started making sense when I could see their reflection in real work. This phase helped me narrow down my interests, reduce countless possibilities into a handful, and stop constantly asking myself what I’ll do next.

Yet the journey was not as sequential as it sounds. There was more suffering than fulfilment, more agony than accomplishment, more failures than the “Thrilled To Share” LinkedIn posts. There are memories I will carry forward and lessons that will navigate me through the next phases of my life.

As my last semester approaches its end, societal pressure quietly piles up. Family expectations grow. A new journey waits. It feels overwhelming again. And in these final days on campus, I am slowly realising how deeply I will miss this place. The familiar faces, the monsoon—going out to get drenched in the heavy rain—or the random roaming in Puran Dhaka to satiate midnight biryani cravings.

Will I ever be this free again?

I will miss the cosy late afternoons of late November, when winter just begins to settle in, the campus turns slightly gloomy, and a soft ray of sunlight still holds a quiet promise.

I will miss this unbounded freedom.

Then again, I try to make myself believe that responsibilities are the joy of a grown-up individual. It is getting harder for me to believe, and the best part is that I haven’t yet given up believing.