Dear First-Year…

Dear first-year,
Let me take you to the museum of students:

Exhibit A: The Academic
They don’t complain about Mondays because they forgot weekends exist. Their supervisor knows them better than their roommate. In the to and fro from lab to sleep, they somehow convinced themselves that this is happiness. Maybe it is.

Exhibit B: The Player
They know the schedule and timings of every tournament around Bangalore, but wait, we have a quiz tomorrow?! They hold their pens like a racket; when they flip their tests over, you will know someone’s about to eat dust on the court today.

Exhibit C: “What am I doing here, dawg!”
Somewhere between leaving home and reaching the campus, they left something on NH-44. Bobbing between subjects and extracurricular activities, they are running on an almost-empty tank. Just give them something passionate to do.

Exhibit D: The mute-ated
They do have a voice box, but at this pace, a few generations down the line, it will be a vestigial organ. We tried asking them more facts about themselves, but they just nodded.

Exhibit E: The Artist
Some call it addiction, some call it passion, some call it an itch; we say “whatever” and enjoy the art. Talking to them about their creations makes everyone else feel alienated, so we limit the conversations and enjoy the masterpieces.

Exhibit F: The Party Animal
They know every club in Indiranagar and exactly which auto driver won’t ask questions at 3 a.m. They can submit an assignment with one eye closed and still make it to class by nine. They live like every Friday is the last Friday.

Exhibit G: The Druggie
They are not looking at you like this because they find you interesting, but because that floral shirt makes them feel like they are on a rollercoaster in the Amazon. They usually don’t make much sense, but with the right amount in their veins, they function like normal people. Some fear them when they are high, but that’s when they are at their most docile.

Exhibit(s) H: The Lover(s)
We had a couple here two months ago, but one of them left. That usually happens. He might look dead, but he is alive, although he claims she took his heart with her. We verified that she doesn’t have his heart. In fact, she doesn’t have her own either. Exhibits G and what’s remaining of exhibit H spend an awful lot of time together; we might just merge their exhibits soon.

Thank you for visiting the museum of students. And we would like to apologize: none of the exhibits were labeled correctly. The Academic wandered into the Artist wing sometime in the second year. The Party Animal spent an entire semester becoming The Silent. The Druggie sobered up and started waking up at seven for football practice. The Player fell in love. The Lover forgot what love looked like.

And me? I was convinced people came in neat little boxes. Then I looked back and realized I’d walked through almost every room in this museum. In some, I stayed for a month; in some, for a weekend; and in some, I would never visit again.
So, dear first-year, if you are trying to figure out which exhibit you belong to, stop trying. You don’t.
College isn’t a museum. It’s a construction site.
You’re allowed to change majors, hobbies, friend groups, ambitions, hairstyles, opinions, and versions of yourself. You’re allowed to wake up tomorrow and care about something you laughed at yesterday. Consistency is not identity.
Have principles. Keep your kindness. Try not to be a jerk.
You’re far too young to become an exhibit.