I think one of the strangest things about university is that nobody really prepares you for the people. Before coming here, everybody talks about grades, attendance shortages, assignments that will keep you awake until 3 a.m., presentations that will make you question your existence and teachers who apparently enjoy making life difficult. Nobody tells you that one of the most exhausting parts of university will be navigating people.
When I first entered university, I thought making friends would be easy. After all, everyone is new. Everyone is looking for company. Everyone is trying to settle in. How hard could it be?
Turns out, quite hard.
You walk into a classroom with forty or fifty people and suddenly you're expected to build an entirely new social life from scratch. Some people instantly click with others. Some already seem comfortable despite it being the first week. Some somehow know everybody's name within two days while you still struggle to remember who sits beside you during lectures. And before you've even had time to settle into your chair, groups begin forming. Not intentionally, perhaps, but naturally. People gravitate toward those who resemble them in one way or another.
At first, I thought finding friends was the challenge. Then I realized keeping yourself intact while finding them is the actual challenge.
Maybe it's because university is one of the first places where you're exposed to such a variety of personalities all at once. You meet people who grew up completely differently from you. People whose lives, opinions and experiences make yours seem small in comparison. Some are louder than you. Some are smarter than you. Some are more confident than you. Some seem to carry an energy that immediately attracts everyone around them.
And somewhere in the middle of observing all these people, you begin observing yourself differently too.
You start wondering whether you're social enough. Funny enough. Interesting enough. Whether people like you or merely tolerate you. Whether you belong where you are or if everyone else has somehow figured something out that you haven't.
I think comparison becomes almost unavoidable in environments like these.
Sometimes it's not even jealousy. It's curiosity. You look at people and wonder how they became the way they are. You wonder what kind of life produces that confidence. What kind of upbringing makes someone so comfortable in their own skin. What experiences taught them to walk into a room without worrying about how they're being perceived.
Meanwhile you're sitting in the cafeteria overthinking a conversation you had three hours ago.
University has a funny way of making you question parts of yourself that never seemed questionable before.
There are days when you'll meet people who make you feel completely understood and there are days when you'll spend hours around others yet somehow feel alone. And perhaps that's the part nobody talks about enough. Loneliness doesn't disappear just because you're surrounded by people.
Some of my loneliest moments have existed in crowded rooms.
A lecture hall filled with students. A bustling cafeteria where every table is occupied. A society event where everyone appears to be having the time of their lives. Somehow, in places filled with people, there are moments when you become deeply aware of yourself.
Maybe because belonging isn't really about physical presence. It's about connection.
And connections are strange things.
There are friendships that form over borrowed notes and shared complaints about attendance shortages. Friendships built through suffering together during finals week. Friendships that begin because two people happened to sit beside each other on the first day and never stopped. Then there are friendships that seem perfect initially but slowly reveal cracks neither person expected.
I used to think friendships were simpler than they actually are. Growing up, we are often taught that good people become friends and remain friends. Reality is much messier than that. Sometimes good people misunderstand each other. Sometimes timing ruins things. Sometimes expectations quietly destroy what affection built.
The older I get, the more I realize that people aren't difficult because they're bad. People are difficult because they're people.
Everyone is carrying things you know nothing about.
The classmate who never talks might be fighting battles at home. The friend who constantly jokes might be hiding something painful beneath all that laughter. The person who appears cold might simply be afraid of getting close to anyone.
And you, too, are somebody else's mystery.
Maybe that's why relationships often feel so fragile. We're trying to understand entire worlds hidden behind faces we only see for a few hours each day.
Being a student in Pakistan adds another layer to all of this. There's something uniquely chaotic about our university culture. The group projects where one person does all the work while the others magically disappear. The chai dhabas that somehow become unofficial therapy centres. The endless discussions about futures none of us are certain about. The pressure from families asking what comes next when we're still trying to survive what is happening now.
Some days it feels as though everyone around us has a plan. A roadmap. A clear direction.
Then you sit with your friends after class and realize none of you know what you're doing.
And somehow that's comforting.
I think what I've struggled with most isn't meeting new people. It's preserving my own identity while doing so.
Because every new environment asks something from you.
It asks you to adapt.
To change.
To become.
And while growth is necessary, there is always a fear hidden beneath it. A fear that in trying to become someone new, you'll accidentally abandon parts of who you've always been.
There are opinions I've stayed quiet about because disagreement felt uncomfortable. There are moments when I've laughed simply because everyone else was laughing. There are times when I've altered small pieces of myself to fit more comfortably into certain spaces.
I think everyone does this to some extent.
The problem begins when adaptation slowly turns into performance.
When you're no longer being yourself but playing a version of yourself that feels more acceptable.
That's when exhaustion begins.
Because pretending, even in small ways, requires energy.
And eventually you start missing the person you were before you became so concerned with how others perceived you.
Maybe growing up isn't about becoming a completely different person. Maybe it's about learning which parts of yourself deserve to stay despite changing circumstances.
Maybe it's learning how to listen to different opinions without losing your own voice.
Maybe it's learning how to make room for others without shrinking yourself.
Or maybe it's simply learning how to walk through a world filled with different personalities, different expectations and different definitions of success while still recognizing yourself at the end of the day.
I don't think university teaches this in any classroom.
But I think many of us are learning it anyway.
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