Somewhere between our first few college lectures and the chaos of third year, everything started to change.
The first two years felt like baby adulthood. We were technically grown up, but life still felt padded. There was time to breathe, laugh too much, submit assignments late, and pretend that the next semester would somehow be more productive. We didn’t know yet how heavy things could get.
Then suddenly, reality showed up with projects, resumes, and job portals that looked like alien languages. We started applying to every opportunity we came across, barely reading what the job was about. Most of the time, we just clicked “apply” and hoped someone, somewhere, would notice our almost-empty resumes.
It wasn’t confidence. It was desperation, that quiet hope of being seen, of being picked, of proving that we could figure it out along the way.
And for those who already had good resumes, the thought wasn’t “I hope I get picked.” It became “I hope this one actually pays.” That’s when it hit — college isn’t just about learning anymore. It’s also about trying to earn, to survive, and to stay sane in the process.
The Third-Year Reality Check
The third and fourth years feel completely different from the first two. Those early semesters were slow and soft, full of friendships and half-serious ambitions. But now everything is stacked up on top of each other.
Classes, DSA, mini-projects, internships, placements, side skills. We can’t drop any of them, but we can’t handle them all either. And somewhere in between, we start thinking about money.
Not in a greedy way — just in a growing-up way. Asking our parents for money starts to feel awkward. Not because they make us feel that way, but because we want to pay for our own coffee, our own autos, our own random expenses. We want to earn a little, to feel capable, to not have to ask.
The Job Hunt Blur
When we finally start applying for internships or part-time work, it’s chaos. Half the time, we don’t even know what the job actually involves. We just want something that sounds fancy enough to put on our CVs.
But some of those internships don’t pay at all. And the ones that do? Barely cover our weekend snacks.
We laugh it off, call it “exposure,” and keep moving. Everyone’s doing the same thing — trying to look like we’ve got it together, when really, all of us are learning on the go.
Balancing the Noise
This is the part no one warns you about: balancing everything at once. Academics, projects, skill-building, maybe a personal hobby or two. It’s exhausting. But it’s also strangely grounding.
Because this is when we start figuring out what actually matters, what kind of work feels like a chore, and what kind feels like purpose. What we do because we want to, and what we do because we think we should.
It’s the first real glimpse of adulthood. Messy, confusing, but kind of beautiful in its own way.
When Passion Starts Paying
The first time we get paid for something we love, it feels unreal. We stare at the number for way too long. It’s not even about the amount, it’s about what it represents — the first sign that maybe, we’re getting somewhere.
But then comes the pressure. What used to be fun suddenly has expectations attached to it. Passion becomes responsibility. We start worrying about being consistent, about doing enough, about not losing what made us start in the first place.
And that’s when it clicks... doing what we love doesn’t make it easy. It just means we care enough to keep doing it even when it’s hard.
Finding the Balance
Maybe this is what growing up really is. Learning to balance everything — college, work, passions, people, without dropping ourselves in the middle.
I don’t think the goal is to choose between passion and paycheck. It’s to find the rhythm where both can exist without one swallowing the other.
At the end of the day, we don’t just want to earn from what we love. We want to still love it when we earn from it.