A semester seems like a lot of time from this end. It isn’t. Watch out for the quizzes and the projects and the assignments that always need to be done. Watch out for yourself. In avoiding the terror of coming to terms with the end, you will come up with mundane tasks that need to be done urgently. So far, I have made lists, cleaned my room every day, gone on erratic runs, taken up painting, organized my wardrobe, re-read old books, signed up for swimming and the gym–I have done much, but accomplished little. Of the seven phases of feeling psenti, the only one I seem to be familiar with is, ‘Am I feeling psenti yet?’

Watch out for the bubble. I’ve spent this semester looking at campus on-goings from the underside of a glass-bottom boat–curious, but mostly unaffected. The naïve wisdom that comes with being a fourth-year leads you to believe that you have seen it all. The truth is, this semester brings its share of lessons, much like the ones before it. Wisdom gained from three long years does not exempt you from suffering. There are experiences yet to be had: new dreams and newer let-downs. 

Watch out for nostalgia. Watch out for the rose-tinted glasses you will inevitably don as you reminisce. You will find yourself saying things like, ‘Things were better in my first year…’ or ‘…those were the good old days.’ They weren’t. You will find fresh-faced first years rolling their eyes at you, and you’ll think you know better than them. You don’t. Your ideas are no longer harbingers of change, but relics of an era long gone. 

Watch out for the pesky in-betweens. There’s a whole new life waiting out there (or so I’ve been told)–goodbyes have been said, bucket list items ticked off, and three years of memories stored safely in the form of DoPy snaps. The near future will bring new adventures and a multitude of firsts. But right now, the most exciting thing in my life is that as soon as I’m done with this article, I can take a nap. 

I haven’t decorated my room. Of all the things that make me psenti, the stark nakedness of the walls– the innate acceptance of a temporary stay–happens to be the last straw. There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere.