It’s quiet now.

The kind of quiet that only comes at the end of something: not dramatic, not loud. Just still.

I’m sitting in my dorm room, half-packed, watching the same walls that felt unfamiliar just months ago. How did it go by so fast?

It feels like I just got here. Like I was just stepping onto campus for pre-orientation, dragging two suitcases and way too many expectations. I remember the buzz of nerves in my stomach, the awkward icebreakers, the campus tours that felt like marathons. I didn’t know what “FFC” stood for — I thought it was short for “For Freshman Consumption.” I didn’t know where anything was, so I just followed groups of confident-looking students like a lost duckling. And I definitely didn’t know who I was going to be, other than someone pretending not to be panicking 80% of the time.

And now — I know which bench gets the best sunset light for pretending I’m deep in thought when I’m actually just procrastinating. I know which professor is secretly hilarious and deserves their own Netflix special. I’ve sharpened my pool skills, perfected my poker face, and if GPA were based on late-night games and questionable bluffing strategies, I might just be on the Dean’s List by now. I know how it feels to stumble, and also how it feels to be caught.

It’s only been one year. One. And already it feels like a whole life has happened.

And that’s what scares me.

If one year passed like this — a blur of deadlines and group chats and existential dread in the library at 1 a.m. — what about the rest? Sophomore year, junior, senior? If I blink again, will it all be over?

I’ve spent so much of this year sprinting toward some invisible finish line. Chasing grades, lining up internships, worrying if I’m doing enough to be enough. I treated time like a competition: run faster, produce more, don’t fall behind.

But the moments I remember most weren’t scheduled. They weren’t “productive.” They were spontaneous and small — late-night conversations that wandered into 3 a.m., laughing so hard my stomach hurt, walking across campus alone with music in my ears and the moon above me like some quiet witness.

I don’t want the rest of college to slip past in a blur of to-do lists and GPA calculations.I don’t want to graduate and feel like I just binge-watched four seasons of my life without remembering any of the best episodes.

So next year, I want to be different. I want to taste time, not just track it. I want to linger. Waste time — the good kind of wasting, like sitting on the grass too long or talking to someone you didn’t plan to see. I want to treat these years less like a staircase I have to climb and more like a song I get to dance to, even if I look ridiculous.

Because if college is going to go by fast, then I at least want to feel every second of it.

I came here to learn, to get good grades, for a bright future.

But I also came here to be.