An Exercise in Letting Go

It was the beginning of May when I started (and almost finished) writing this—I’d been off-campus for over four months at that point. If this article had been delivered at that exact point last semester, it would have been a month overdue. As July begins, I sit down to lay it to rest once and for all. I’m not the best at keeping to deadlines, especially ones I set for myself. I have had the spectres of two Cactus Flowers breathing down my neck since my third year. As of the time of editing this, both are yet simply buds in the sand.

I entered BITS with absolutely no expectations, simply an appreciation for starting a new phase of life. For a semester, I had all I could need. Then, seven semesters happened. In a nutshell, not pretty. While I would not deny that it was largely a prison of my own making, I’m not happy about the places I went to. If I had written this article at the end of fourth year (as is tradition), it would’ve turned out vastly different and I would’ve come to regret it today.

I would say that the past year has been arguably the best year of my life since college began. I have learned, lived, wandered, laughed, eaten, loved, and sung more than I can ever recall. Now that I am almost done with college and moving on to things, I leave as a much happier, better, and more optimistic person.

At the end of this road, I will not say much about BITS except that it treated me how I deserved. I respect the Institution of BITS and everyone who does amazing things within it. I have watched people crumble and change, affirm themselves and stick to their guns, thrive and take the system for a ride, or simply let themselves go with the flow. Nonetheless, I believe that the Institution will soon reach a point where it will deserve to be collapsed unless it reverses its monetary policies. My new dream and hopefully eventual career path were inspired by the way BITS treated us and we treated BITS. To say that I loved my college would be false; to say that I hated it would be worse.

It taught me to slow down and take joy in good things; they are not permanent and they will not return. I have learned the importance of experiences I do not enjoy. My tutorial tests were a necessary contrast to my nights spent playing videogames; I would not have appreciated my games without my tests, and my tests would have killed me without my games. I have committed to memory the sensations of playing the guitar on NAB slope under a night sky and playing the ukulele in Sky Lawns in the sunlight of the winter afternoon. My friend has not let me forget the day I returned from the classroom door, too scared to walk in 5 minutes late, and so missed a test.

For me, COVID was little more than boredom; I am extremely lucky and privileged that my worst experiences in the pandemic were online classes and wearing a mask in the afternoon sun under a helmet on an empty road. The story of COVID is awful and unfair, but I managed to escape with nothing except a scanned answer sheet PDF written on aircraft tissue paper and a vague sense of wistfulness from wondering what third year in college would have been like.

There are some things I will keep for myself, EPC most of all. I have loved every single moment working for the club and I think some part of me wishes I could be part of it for years more to come. Over my third and fourth years, I realised that the club had undergone a significant change, and no amount of yelling at clouds would bring back the people and the nights we spent creating labours of love. It took until my fifth year to realise that it was both beautiful and natural for things to be this way.

As a relic of pre-COVID times, I see the changes my club has been through. My batchmate was the first woman to helm The Fine Print in (possibly) decades. Since then, we’ve changed traditions, scrapped many ‘fun’ experiences for members’ comforts, and changed the club structure multiple times over. I recall when the club’s Twitter and Instagram presences were being established.

It showed me that we’ve come a little way down from the club’s reputation of being elitist and from sticking fingers in our ears regarding the relevance of what we print. It also showed me how far we have yet to go: why there were traditions and practices established in the first place, and how the club will have to stumble our way into recreating some of them eventually. At the time of editing this, Cactus Flower will not have been around for over three years; I feel my club is justified in not assigning it an Editor at this point. At best, I am a little miffed; at worst, I see it as a failure on my part (as Editor from the last batch that worked on a published issue) to carry, adapt, and present the mantle like it was handed off to me. My final remaining job as active part of EPC is to ensure that the tail end of this era of CF comes out with dignity. The future of CF is not for me to worry about.

I miss the camaraderie and hierarchy of pre-COVID EPC from 2018 to 2020 a little bit, but that’s just me showing my age once more. I know the club will get there in time, and I hope it becomes a better and happier place than I knew. I’m also hoping that I’ll return one day and I will be happy to see the club, and that my juniors will be as happy to see me as I had been to see my returning seniors. I can only hope that I have given better than I have received.

I do not leave campus with a set of coherent memories. My enjoyment of attending Dance Club’s workshop in first year clashes with my regret at never having given Music Club or Gurukul a shot. Everything to do with EPC stands out clear in my head. Playing cards with my wing every night for a semester and a half until we got sent home may not have been the best course of action. I should have cleaned myself up before I took my final photo with my Economics professors. I cried at the When Chai Met Toast concert in my 4-2 APOGEE with seniors and juniors around me. I’m proud to have gotten through my academics; I will be reluctant to pick up either of my subjects ever again.

My trip down memory lane has been much sappier and much less comedic than I would have expected. I like to think I’ve moved past trying to be funny as a defence mechanism, or making reactionary humour. I still have things to do and business yet unfinished; I hope I can get around to it eventually, just like I got around to writing this article. Most of all, I’ve realised I don’t really miss being in college anymore. I got what I came for and then some; I respect and appreciate all of it. I’m taking my friends, memories, regrets, and guitar along with me, and I hope I’m leaving something behind with the people who remain. No point overstaying my welcome. I’m happy it happened, and I’m happy it’s over. I’ve let go.