What does a fresh page smell like?
Hope, maybe.
Anxiety too, with a dash of curiosity. Maybe, it smells like manifestation, like something quietly waiting to become real.
What’s the weight of a new beginning? Heavier than it looks.
The page isn't blank; it's crinkled by the past. Legacies. Lessons. Quiet scars. Loud dreams.
It holds the pressure of making a point, of continuing something that mattered, even if no one claps. Of daring to start again.
As we step into the unknowns of tomorrow, we pause. To
reflect. To remember.
To ask: what does this beginning mean to us?
New beginnings are overwhelming. There’s just so much I want to do, so many ways to go about chasing these dreams, and it’s like there’s too much inside me all at once. Too many ideas crashing into each other. Then there is the fear, this nagging fear that it’ll all just turn into a mush, like upma.
What if everything goes wrong? What if I try and fall flat? How do I look people in the eye after that?
How do I explain myself without sounding like I failed at
being “me”?
Through all that noise, there’s heart. The same heart the
little first grader carried into the big school, clutching her bag a little too
tight. She’s there. The heart beats a little too fast, a little too loud, but
she wants. She still wants.
Maybe that’s what a new beginning is for me.... fear, yes,
but laced with this strange, stubborn kind of hope.
Tears, yes, but the kind that come from being overwhelmed,
because deep down, I know they’ll turn into tears of pride, of contentment, of
that quiet happiness that says, “The soles are worn out, but the hope never
left. I kept moving despite the despites.”
Hope often leads to disappointment.
It has, for me. Every new day, week, month and year, I hope
for something.
Something new, something bold, something me.
Often, it ends with the hope bearing little to no fruit.
For I hope that my hopes may come true, just this time.
Every new chapter of my life, I await eagerly.
With bated breath, and clammy hands, and a thunderous heart.
Maybe disappointment, maybe hope, maybe something entirely
different.
Nevertheless, it’s a new page in the book of my life.
And with a smile I say, “Welcome! Let’s have a great
time.”
And when another new beginning comes to its inevitable end,
I wave it goodbye, with my hand on my heart,
And wait for the next chapter, and continue to still hope.
Hope decides to arrive in the spaces in between,
in the decision to crawl past a failure I did not think I
could survive,
in the need for the exuberant joy that everyone else seems
to feel,
in the quiet ache of wanting more, even when what I have
should be enough.
to mourn what is familiar, even if it was never quite right,
to clutch what is fading out of habit rather than love,
and so, I stay in these long-abandoned rooms with their
peeling paint and locked windows,
telling myself, I am safe when I am really just stuck,
stifled, suffocated,
until I reach for the doorknob and walk into the unknown,
unsteady, unsure, upright.
Maybe it’s the first time I laughed and meant it,
or it’s forgiving myself without needing to be perfect
first,
or choosing rest instead of punishment,
or speaking even when my voice trembles.
Because to begin again is not to erase what came before:
It is to carry it differently.
And so, I wait for that light.
Again, and again, and again.
Rashee Shetty, from our hearts to yours - Sub-Head of Editorial 2025-26.
As a new academic year begins, we too begin a new journey.
A journey of responsibility, friendships and success.
and we want you with us, wherever this road leads.
Yours Sincerely,
Editorial Committee 2025-26.
❤️❤️❤️
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