Lost in Science, Found in Art: A Freshman’s journey

BY AMARI SUKHDEO

The time has come. It’s September 4^th, the first day of university. Only this time, I’m not entering the familiar halls of my high school, where the same faces I’ve grown up with greeted me each day. Before me now is the sprawling, 250-acre campus of the University of Toronto, known as the hardest school in Canada. I know I should feel excited—this is supposed to be the start of something new, an adventure into adulthood, and the pursuit of what I thought was my passion: forensics, but instead of excitement, all I feel is fear. Is this really what I’m meant to do?

The students rush from class to class, a stream of energy and focus, while I feel like I’m standing still. I’ve always loved the outdoors, the way nature flows freely, unconstrained. Yet here I am, suffocating under the weight of expectations. Is this what growing up means? Trading freedom for something that feels so foreign?

I walk into my first lecture: physics. The hall is enormous, with rows upon rows of students already settled in, faces buried in textbooks, or laptops, furiously taking notes. Physics is difficult, but what’s even harder is trying to care. I look around, wondering how everyone else seems so sure of themselves, so eager to grasp every concept, every equation the professor scribbles on the board.

It’s in a chemistry lecture that everything changes. I’m sitting there, half-listening, half-daydreaming, when suddenly, a wave of clarity hits me. We’re discussing molecular bonds, but I feel no connection. That’s when the realisation crashes over me, I’m in the wrong place. My passion for this major is nonexistent, and pretending otherwise is becoming unbearable. I’ve always felt most at home in art, in nature, in things that are organic and alive. I long for creativity, for spaces where I can breathe freely. I want to explore, to create, to nurture my own curiosity instead of forcing myself to conform to a path that feels wrong.

I start seeking out courses that call to me, anything that brings me closer to what I love. The urgency to switch paths grows. I can’t continue down this road any longer. The tension I felt during those early weeks fades, replaced by a growing sense of purpose. The decision to leave forensics behind isn’t easy, but I know it’s the only choice that feels right.

Finally, the paperwork is signed, the decision made. I’m leaving forensics behind, crossing over into a world where I feel truly alive. Arts and nature—they are my new path, the places where my curiosity thrives. It’s scary, stepping away from what I thought was a sure career, but it’s also exhilarating. As I walk across campus now, I no longer feel weighed down by doubt. I’ve crossed the boundary between who I thought I had to be and who I truly am. The fear has faded, replaced with a sense of freedom, of possibility. My journey is only just beginning, but for the first time, I know it’s the right one.