29/11/2025
"Temporary Stranger"
The label “Irregular Student” felt like an awkward badge I had to wear. It meant I wasn’t following the typical path. I shifted to a different program, so I was in classes with sophomores and juniors who had already formed their own social groups. Walking into the lecture room felt less like attending class and more like crashing a private party.
I slipped into an empty seat near the back, holding my backpack close. The air buzzed with conversations that I wasn’t part of. I noticed the circles forming around me. I don’t have mine in this class. There was a group laughing over an inside joke about a professor I hadn’t met. There was a pair comparing notes from a prerequisite course I’d taken at a different time, leaning close together. They communicated in shorthand I didn’t understand, filled with shared experiences and a history I didn’t have.
“Giiirl, did you study for our quiz?”
“Nope. I just scanned my notes. My mind retained NOTHING lmao”
“Sameeee oh em gee. Hahaha”
I envy them. I envy their friendship and how casual they are with each other. How I wish I hadn't shifted course. I could've had what they have. But, well, it already happened... I stared at my desk, unmoving.
This is when the anxious thoughts began to spiral. They threw confused looks towards me. They knew I was new. They knew I was the irregular student who switched programs. They must be wondering why I am here, if I got dropped from my previous program for failing classes or if I struggled to keep up with the standard grades.
I didn’t just feel out of place, I felt like an outsider who had landed in their midst. Every time someone glanced my way, usually just to see if the seat next to me was free, my stomach dropped. It wasn’t just, “I’m alone.” It was, “Everyone is looking at me, and they must think I’m weird, or a burden, or maybe they just dislike irregular students.” Logically, I knew that was ridiculous. These students were busy worrying about their own grades and lunch plans.
The Fear of Missing Out, or FOMO, became my worst companion. During a break, I watched a large group gather their things, talking about going to "the usual spot" for coffee. They moved together like a flowing current while I stayed glued to my desk, pretending to scroll through nonexistent messages. Another day of eating my sandwich alone on a bench, scrolling through social media feeds filled with pictures of vibrant college lives, deepening the ache in my chest. I have friends from my old class, but our schedules don’t line up. We went from being in class and eating together to just waving when we passed each other. I missed the bond we used to have, like hanging out during free time, inside jokes about random topics, and just having their presence made me feel like I belonged.
Then I had a small, internal breakthrough. As I sat there, watching the confident students around me, I suddenly realized that my status wasn’t the issue, it was my assumption about how they judged me. My fear wasn’t about being rejected by them, but about rejecting myself first by not even trying. I saw that my anxiety was building an invisible barrier around me, and I was giving the key to my emotional prison to the "Irregular Student" label. I was waiting for an invitation to something I wasn’t allowing myself to pursue.
One afternoon, the professor called for a quick partner exercise. Panic flared up again, but this time felt different. Everyone turned to their established partners, leaving me awkwardly by my desk. Instead of focusing on my dread, I took a deep breath and made a choice, I wouldn’t hide in the corner.
A familiar girl, already huddled with her friend, looked up and noticed I was stranded. Instead of ignoring me, she whispered something to her friend, then waved me over with a slight, hesitant smile.
"Hey, join us," she said quietly, handing me a sheet. "We just need a third set of eyes for this."
It wasn’t a grand invitation for friendship, it was simply a matter of including me. In that moment, the weight of judgment and exclusion lifted just enough for me to breathe. I wasn’t invisible, and I wasn’t unwanted. I was just new.
As the class ended, I packed up quickly. I was still alone when I walked out, but the tightness in my chest loosened a bit. The key lesson wasn’t that I needed to be included, but that I needed to stop excluding myself. My irregular path gave me a unique perspective, a chance to form connections based on who I am now, not who I was expected to be according to a curriculum. The anxiety might still whisper, but I decided to whisper back. Every circle starts with one person. Today, I’m that person ready to take the next step. I wouldn’t wait for permission anymore. I’d start by finding the courage to ask about that "usual spot" tomorrow. The temporary stranger was ready to start building a home.
Short Story | Sheryl Mae Bacala
Illustration | Yu Shien Gregorio
Layout | Ryn Mojillo
