Two weeks ago, I finished my first year of university. Wow, what a wild ride that was.
To be completely and utterly candid, I was terrified of going to university. At least a month before I was due to leave, I developed an incredibly unpleasant stomach ache that didn’t go away until I arrived. However, when that day came, I found myself overcome by a strange sense of serenity. I knew that I was ready, and all those weeks of fretting faded into obscurity. I’m still not quite sure how this happened, but I managed to evade homesickness entirely; whilst Freshers’ Week wasn’t anything to write home about, I credit it as the main reason I was able to distract myself from the terrifying reality of my situation.
Figuring out how to go about documenting the past year is probably the most brain power I’ve had to dedicate to something since my course ended a month ago. A ridiculous amount happened; too much to think about, let alone write down. I debated a poem, but I’ve tried my hand at poetry before and it was disastrous. I then debated not documenting the past year at all, rather just providing the profound life lesson that sprung from it at the end (when I work out what that is, I’ll let you know). But that’s no fun. I want to remember and reflect on what I did this year, without boring everybody else to oblivion. So, to fulfil this, I have constructed some mildly abstract descriptions, detailing what I believe to be the most interesting aspects of each term. Consider it my ode to pre-semesterisation, if you will, minus the poetry.
Autumn term saw Freshers’ Week - a Neon Night, cocktails that were far too sweet, a lot of face-paint, karaoke and my birthday. Joined the student newspaper. Kissed two boys from the student newspaper. Saw a play, made a lifelong friend. Fairfax-partied way too hard - potentially got spiked by some hollowed-out apple slices. Christmas dinner - neglected to cook, but made up for it in gluttony and washing up. A great term.
April showers bring May flowers, and Spring term brought calamity. Met a cat that I will love until I die. Read some books, learnt nothing. Best nights out generally occurred during this term; went a bit Salvation-mad, however. Plenty of themes - first names, 1920s, St Patrick’s Day. Spotted Long Boi mere months before he died. Got my heart broken and went to Cambridge; tried to become a poet but it didn’t work. A good term with rough patches.
Summer term’s warm weather proved dangerous and I became a borderline alcoholic. Joined the rounders team - didn’t play any rounders. Drank and smoked and danced with old friends. Attended two barbecues, a picnic and a summer ball. Won an election, lost a friend (temporarily). Fell in love and mended my heart. Made the slightly irrational decision to become a coxswain. Said goodbye to my room for the last time - felt nothing. Too excited for the road ahead. A fitting end to a colourful year.
So, there we have it. My year (or, more precisely, ten months) squeezed into three teeny paragraphs. Of course, they don’t quite manage to capture the true essence of it all - the highs, the lows, the in-between days (shout out Robert Smith). Although, realistically, I don’t think I could have asked for a better city, better course, better friends or better experiences. I’m not a big lover of life lessons, or morals, or taking things away from other things - sometimes, a thing is just a thing. However, if you do insist on extracting a message from this post, it would be to enjoy your first year of university. Live it to the extreme - whatever makes you feel free, and alive, and happy, then do it. University, as a whole, doesn’t really count in the game of life, and your first year should epitomise this.
A month before leaving, I didn’t think that I would settle; make friends; be any good at my course; feel comfortable in an alien city. But it all falls into place. Don’t worry if it doesn’t feel like it at first; although I enjoyed Autumn term a lot, there were still days when I felt like I didn’t quite belong. By the end of the Christmas break, I desperately didn’t want to return - I’d settled quite happily back into my home life, and couldn’t fathom getting back into the swing of university. But I did, and now, at the end of Summer term, the only thing I can think about is moving into my second-year house.
Ultimately, I will miss my first year. It was fun, and messy, and sad, and beautiful, and probably the best year of my life thus far. So here’s to my second year - may it bring all of the beauty and double the chaos.