I don’t know if I chose to be like this or if college made me like this. I come home to a single room every evening and pull out a planner that neatly lays out the week to come. It doesn’t feel right, meticulously planning life like this. Then again, socializing doesn’t feel right either.

Maybe this is what growing up is about. I’ve learned to live alone, selling myself to introversion most nights. I don’t party. I don’t drink. My friends tell me to get out more. These are the same friends who regularly ask me, “So what happened last night?”

I’ve become an introvert. I don’t like crowds, parties or football games. I never know what to say. People can never hear me. The music hurts my ears. Conversation is difficult. The smell of sweat, cigarettes and booze is nauseating. It all feels peculiar, the social scene here.

I like people. Yet, I’ve never understood how to make long-lasting friends on campus. It all moves too fast. I have many acquaintances, far fewer friends and even fewer close friends. It’s all rather depressing when I think about it. Maybe I’m looking in all the wrong places.

Sometimes I’ll see my old classmates from high school. I say hello. They smile. They’ve joined sororities and fraternities, mellowed out at Mallet, found soulmates and discovered new ways to entertain themselves. I’ve mostly kept to myself. It didn’t used to be like this – forcing myself to talk to people.

Several days ago, I was quietly studying in Gorgas, when a friend from high school paused to greet me. Last year, he pledged a fraternity, but I never saw him, even though he lived in my building at the time. It was a lengthier conversation than I expected, but I slowly exited from discourse as he enlightened me about why hazing was okay. “It teaches respect.”

I didn’t bother with a reply. He spoke of the rituals of pledge-ship with such matter-of-fact detail that I disconnected. His fraternity was his life now. It reaffirmed why I was the way I was. There wasn’t much room to make friends when everyone appeared so absorbed in their own social circle. The lines of the social structure had been drawn. Am I allowed to step out of bounds?

I’m told humans are innately social. My life as a sophomore begs to differ. I remember growing up thinking that in college, I’d vanish and materialize across campus, carving an extensive social niche as I lived on my own, staying up until fragments of daylight lead me to bed. It was independence at last.

It’s odd how my priorities have changed. I no longer go out of my way to socialize. I’ve found solace in the meaningful relationships that have stood the test of time, but even amidst my diminishing social life, I find myself discovering that thing we call happiness.

It sounds everything but natural, but extricating myself from the culture here has granted me freedom from everything I loathe about college: the forced socialization, the meticulous networking, the you-only-live-once attitude that places “having a good time” above everything else.

Everyone tells me I’m missing out, but I respectfully disagree. Tossing myself into the masses feels out of character. It will not change. It will not get better. But I will get better at it.

Tarif Haque is a sophomore majoring in computer science. His column runs on Tuesday.