I’m sat inside my old faculty’s building, as the new kids wander across campus as part of their orientation tours. I was one of them, right here, 25 years ago.

The daunting library – with that “BORIS” catalogue system, which was archaic even back in 1999. I rarely took anything out because I feared looking incompetent when trying to use that search system.

When I arrived on campus, I was 2 months past my 18th birthday, joining thousands of other newbies – some of who had been with me in primary school. I never wished to see them again, but our paths crossed once more. It was of no consequence, though, because I socialised with no one over those four years at university.

I tried – early on in my first year. I really did. But nobody took to me. Probably because my social anxiety shaped my efforts into unnoticeable, awkward attempts which the others either didn’t see (the optimistic perspective), or chose to ignore (my chosen perspective).

Those were lonely years for me. I cried at times, especially in that very first semester…sadness at being so alone. So unable to make friends. Rejected. Abandoned.

But this was my life. And I grew to embrace my alone-ness. Internally, I grew defiant, angry at the rejection (or indifference) of the others. I told myself that I needed no one. None of them. Screw them all. I could get by by myself.

In this state of isolation, my inner world was vast, contrasting against the crowded physically surroundings, filled with so many: peers…kids of my generation, in their golden years.

There were no smart phones back then. No virtual world to escape to. Heck, I didn’t even have a phone at all. So instead of hiding behind a screen – as the kids of today can – I would hide away in the library. Or in quiet, unpopulated spots – like outside this very building. I would try to do course reading, or at least pretend to. I needed to look busy so that no one would notice this loser sitting all alone.

My insecurity was at a peak. My self-confidence and self-esteem were at all-time lows.

Here I was: this little brown boy (though race played little role, as it was a multi-racial campus population) with comically big shoes, and a whole set of brand new clothes I’d gotten just for this tertiary adventure. There are no pictures of me to look back on, but I know I would be embarrassed if I saw what i looked like back then.

It was a sad, sad picture. But that was the journey I had to go through. Every experience in life is deliberate…tailor-made to mould us into the people we become – for better or worse.

And now, as these fresh-faced kids explore their new academic home – free from the shackles of school discipline, and for some, their family homes – I wonder what state they are in, internally.

I feel for the introverted ones. The shy, insecure, anxious ones with social phobias. The ones who are utterly alone.

I wonder how their days here will play out. How these years will shape their beings…their identities. Their futures.

Times have changed tremendously since I was in their shoes. And times will continue to change.

But the core experience – the essence of entry into this new life – will always remain the same; generation after generation…decade after decade.

I wish them well in this endeavour. And in their lives to follow. And, most importantly, in the life to come after this world.

These are the first steps into adulthood. May they be blessed ones…