Someone once asked me, “Why are you becoming someone else?”
– What? What did you just say? I am becoming someone else?
I was so afraid that someone, just by reading my writing, would see what I had been hiding from the world. You know, “fear” is one of the seven primary emotions. Fortunately, fear seems to be the only one of the seven that I truly know how to feel. Every other emotion I encounter feels somewhat frightening to me or somewhere between “fear” and “surprise.” But how have I been pretending for so long?
Leaving Chittagong was, in a way, a mixture of surprise and fear for me. How would I manage everything on my own? Now, as the time comes to leave Noakhali, I am experiencing the same feeling all over again. What will life be like after I leave this place? This district where I carry so many memories, at least in my head. Will I miss Noakhali? Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Who knows?
Still, there is something that reminds me that choosing Noakhali wasn’t a bad decision. Even though it feels like I am returning to my destination empty-handed, whatever happens, happens.
So, I guess this is “Noakhaliphilia, but misos-heautou.”
The view from Malek Hall, Room 432 (maybe), from Aman’s table.
Since childhood, I’ve always had this strong desire to have my reading table in front of a window, with the whole sky clearly visible. It looked amazing, though.
View from my department, 3rd floor, Academic Building 01.
The place I wanted to be, the passion I had for becoming an engineer, and finally, the death of my dreams. You have seen all versions of me. I don’t know whether I love or hate this place.
The cloudy sky reminds me of something more. My first intentional brishti-bilash in Noakhali. We were heading back to Italy Mess one night after having dinner (dal-ruti from Dosti Hotel) when, suddenly, it started raining. We deliberately got drenched in the rain. No sweet fear of hearing Mum mumble about it. There might have been some photos of us. I don’t have them anymore.
The last time was in 2025. I went out to Poura Bazar for something, perhaps because I had finally started feeling relaxed after many difficult days. It was probably November. November rain. I closed my umbrella and let myself get a little drenched. Then I missed my university bus and took a CNG to the university. I had my breakfast and went back.
How can such little things create such sweet, dukhojagania memories? I heard this word from someone once. Unfortunately, I never got to ask what it meant.
“kibhabe koto ki puure chai,
kokhon ke jane, rastar more haat nari,
bidaay bus-er saari, buker bhetor bhari
zeno pathorer choya-tuku pai..”
Shantinekoton!
Hence, I didn’t do much adda-baji on campus, so I don’t have many memories of this place. Still, the breakfasts during exam days were somewhat memorable, as were the treats from our senior bhais.
I still remember our first khichuri on March 26, 2022, with Nishad and me (perhaps it was my first day at university; I’m not sure). One of our immediate seniors and his friends treated us that day. I still remember what they talked about, the differences between active and inactive politics.
Anyways.
NSTU Central Mosque.
Oh, how could I forget the Maghrib prayers during my NSTU-EDGE course days? I undoubtedly miss and love those evenings and nights at NSTU.
The NSTU-EDGE course was so helpful. It distracted me from a lot of things and gave me a little dopamine hit whenever I felt like I was achieving something.
How many days have passed without a single tangible achievement? It was suffocating back then, and it still is. Sometimes, it feels like only tangible achievements can make me feel good enough to forget everything else for a while, even the endless loop of thoughts running through my head.
Salam Hall
It was winter, and I was trying to make things memorable by taking random photos of my university. Salam Hall, the hall I was officially attached to. Unfortunately, I never got a seat there.
During our first year, first semester (1-1), everyone except one of my messmates was compelled to go to the university around 11 PM or midnight from Noakhali Government College. It was my first and second-to-last all-nighter at the university.
Some department seniors and their friends stayed with us throughout the night. We played football (I didn’t), chitchats at Nil Dighi, talked about the death at Nil Dighi, discussed why not everyone should get involved in politics, and watched them poke fun at each other. And I just stood there silently, hoping they wouldn’t notice me, almost as if I were invisible to them. At last, we went to the drawing room at Salam Hall, watched TV, and gossiped a little. Then, at 6 AM, we took the bus back to our mess.
Our first mess. “Italy Mess.”
Maybe, Hotashar Mor. Nothing special, but a fancy name.
If I had to write about my frustrations, the list would be endless. So instead, I want to thank and express my gratitude to those who helped me and showed me empathy when I was so overwhelmed by frustration that I couldn’t even understand why I felt that way.
I feel sorry that I never thanked someone during my 3-1 and 3-2 semesters. They were the worst semesters of my life. I could no longer concentrate on my studies. Maybe everyone goes through times like these. I just tried to isolate myself, stay silent, and sometimes even pretend that I wasn’t frustrated.
But despite my avoidant tendencies, one of my classmates would still ask me about my studies, whether I was doing okay or not, even when I couldn’t help them in the slightest, the way I used to.
Thank you for being there during that time. Thank you, so very much.
Every night during my 3-2 exams, especially during Computer Networks, was exhausting. I’m afraid of going through that phase again. I have never felt so helpless about my studies and exams, even about my life.
I’m grateful to all of you, my mates. I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you the way I should have. In my whole life, I have never been good enough for anything.
From the “Classroom 01” Last Bench.
People used to say that nobody could learn anything from attending classes. I took that a little too seriously, so I decided to sit by the window at the back of the classroom, looking out. The mighty Salam and Malek Halls were visible from there. I had some other cool photos taken from that spot, too, but somehow, I lost them all.
Sitting on the last bench and looking at the sky through the window reminds me of many things, like,
“Ekhane akash mohashunner-o dure”
“Chele-ta class-er last benchi-te bose,
kolahol theke dure shore ghum roj,
roll number bhishonrokom baaje,
shesh dik theke tin-char-e tar khoj”
Shingara at Shantineketon?
I’m not going to review the shingara of Shantinekoton. Most of them were below average. But if I had to mention the most memorable shingara, it would probably be the ones from “Mollar Dokan”, which were probably 2 or 3 taka each in the evening.
Simple, cheap, and somehow memorable.
Neel Dighi
“ekhane akash mohashunner-o dure
ure zete zete jonjhar moto pakhi,
ekhanei ese pakhader fele chure..
suto chire zei ghuri ure giyechilo
ekhane ese dubeche shitol jole,
patay patay shekholera cheye ache
cheleTa dekhche bhishon koutuhole.. “
Rawshan Villa
“keu jane na amar keno emon holo
ekhon amar din kathe na raat kathe na
raat kathe to bhor dekhi na”
From the roof of Rawshan Villa, I used to sit and look at the sky after Maghrib. For a certain period, it became something of a daily routine.
Oh, 2025. You were the worst and the best at the same time. I feel desperate for something. I’ve lost interest in almost everything and my fear of abandonment has grown stronger. I still remember that night. I sat on the roof after Isha, with something I desperately wanted to say. I wanted to share how the happiest thing had happened at exactly the right time. I wish…
It was October 23, 2025.
“How could I ever be ungrateful to Him?”
I used to take photos of the sky regularly from the roof of Rawshan Villa. Unfortunately, I haven’t done that in a long time. Still, gazing at the sky and thinking about all those unshared thoughts feels like another strange coping mechanism.
Raihan once said, “I can look at the sky for as long as I want and still never get bored.” Maybe I used to feel the same way.
As far as I can remember, back in high school, I used to watch the October-November sky in the evenings, or perhaps the winter sky in general. That reddish sky. Sometimes, I wished I had a poetry book with me while watching the reddish sky and listening to the Maghrib azan. Those three things together made me think of a line of poetry.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember it anymore
Ma’Moni House
I used to have many photos of the sky from the balcony of Ma’moni House. Unfortunately, I don’t have my first Android phone, a Huawei, anymore, and I didn’t save the photos to the cloud either. This is the only one I have left.
Chairman Ghat (Meghna), The very modest guy in my department. (Not me, I don’t have any photos of myself.)
What if there were a seahorse in the river and the sky were octarine?
I wrote about how I can explain all of my emotions using one emotion, fear.
“…Happiness makes me afraid that I’ll never touch it again, that it might be the last time. Sadness makes me afraid that it will remain forever. I don’t know what love is. If someone asked me to explain what I feel, I would say that it feels like the fear of losing the person I love. Loneliness makes me afraid that I will have to die alone. I don’t work to be successful; I work because I’m afraid of being a failure. I’m afraid of gaining something because I fear losing it after I have it. Days go by, and my fear keeps increasing, like an exponential graph.” (I edited it a bit here.)
Two nice human beings brought up two important points. One of them found that I reminded them of the protagonist of a book by Osamu Dazai. It was the first time someone told me that I reminded them of a protagonist from a work of fiction. In my whole life, I had never thought of myself that way. I had never found that connection, and no one had ever told me that before. I always feel like I am the most unimportant person in every story I belong to.
Another one concluded that I am fearful-avoidant.
“amar za achi ta toh shunno shunno khali,
chinta khamkheyali, sworoachito dhulobali,
makha kichu ogochalo din..”
Chairman Ghat (Meghna)
“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.
Everything passes.
That is the one and only thing I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.
Everything passes.
This year I am twenty-seven. My hair has become much greyer. Most people would take me for over forty.”
~ No Longer Human, Osamu Dazai
Chairman Ghat (Meghna)
Chairman Ghat (Meghna)
Chairman Ghat (Meghna)
Chairman Ghat (Meghna)
I’m always out of the viewport, yet still a part of the world’s scene. It reminds me of something I wrote in 2020: “Bastob-e Ostitwohin.”
Ah, my melancholic, lovely, mesmerizing 2020, 2021 and early 2022. I wish you had never existed. Maybe then I would have been more stable, more expressive, more courageous. You took everything from me. All that remains of me is a hollow shell wearing a mask. A mask? Since when? Since I was a kid! Oh, God. There you go again, making me question everything. What made me so afraid back then? My self-hatred began around that time.
Chairman Ghat
“God, I ask you, is non-resistance a sin?”
Chairman Ghat
Chairman Ghat, “Taal gach-ta ek paye dariye”
So,
Chariman Ghat
Chariman Ghat
Chairman Ghat
Chairman Ghat (It is just a screenshot from a video)
We were sitting in front of the river. The most melancholic thing happened when a family came with a corpse. A bit of a storm, a corpse, a family, and them waiting for the boat. I still remember when I said to Anamul, ‘What was that?!’ Just one of the unforgettable memories I have from my entire life in Noakhali..
Chairman Ghat, (It is also a screenshot from a video)
Chairman Ghat
Sujapur
Sujapur
Sujapur
Sujapur,
Sujapur
Sujapur
