College – Beth Thomas

You Can’t Do It All

Recently, over a weekend brunch with my mum (I’m a middle-class blonde girl with an Instagram account, what do you expect?), we got onto the subject of what I was doing This Time Last Year, a conversation we seem to have every three months.

I remember September 2016 very vaguely. My mum remembered that I was dreading going back to Warwick for a number of reasons, and I can definitely recall the knot I had in my stomach when I unlocked the door of our student house on my first day back. On the other hand, I remember being filled with determination that I was going to do everything I’d wanted to at university that year.

Over the summer I’d read Marina Keegan’s ‘The Opposite of Loneliness’ and was half impressed, half intimidated by everything she’d achieved. She wrote and acted in plays, attended writing classes, was the president of the Yale College Democrats, knew how to sail, dedicated three hours a day to writing, got a job at The New Yorker, had a boyfriend. What struck me the most about this was that she had something to leave behind when she tragically died a few days after graduating.

This sent me into a panic. I’d thought about what I’d done so far at university: ‘Well, I’ve sub-edited and written articles for the university paper…I wrote some pretty good essays and…and…’ That was it really.

Before coming to Warwick, I had a very idealised picture of what my university career would be like. I’d passionately hated my secondary school experience and would do anything to avoid going to school. Sick of being ‘the quiet one’ from Years 7-13, 15-year-old me had firmly set her sights on studying English at university. The utopia-like vision I had of university life got me through the last three years of school, and, without it, I definitely wouldn’t have done as well as I had. The idea of university was special to me because it was meant to be a place where I could be the person I wasn’t allowed to be in my hometown, somewhere I never really felt ’at home’ in the end.

So, when I lugged my suitcase into my tiny Rootes room in 2014, it’s safe to say I had pretty big expectations. I was, of course, going to graduate with a First (something I somehow achieved, though I’m still not sure how). I was going to love every single book I read, and edit the student paper, and act in all the student productions, and go to the Fringe, and get back into dance, and have the best social life, and write award-winning novels in my spare time. I managed to do about one of these things fully and a few of the other things a little bit. But, let’s face it, I was never going to love Sir Gawain and The Green Knight, no matter how hard I tried.

The truth is, you can’t do everything. I was lucky enough to become an Editor on my student paper, and helped to direct a student production in my third year, but I barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone do any of the other things. We can’t all be Marina Keegan, and that’s fine. I spent a while after graduating kicking myself for not having done more at university. But there aren’t enough hours in the day.

I’m proud of everything I achieved at university, even if I didn’t get the experience I expected. So, when my mum asked if I’d enjoyed myself, I said yes, but I wish I had another three years.

Post-Grad Blues

I read a wonderful article in the Metro recently about post-graduate depression, a subject that has been on my mind quite a lot recently. A few things have contributed to the nostalgia I’ve been feeling, from seeing younger students move into their campus accommodation, to reading about the university experiences of celebrities in their biographies.

DISCLAIMER: I’m lucky enough to not suffer from depression, but the post-uni blues have been hitting me hard this past week. A year ago, I would have been stocking up on things to take to my student house, frantically trying to ‘get ahead’ with reading (i.e. reading the first ten pages of one set text), and spending as much time as I could with the family and in the city that I love.

I keep finding myself lapsing into the old, familiar feeling of starting a new educational year. I think that’s pretty fair – I have, after all, spent seventeen Septembers preparing myself for school. Needless to say then, it’s been a bit of a shock to my system not to have to buy new stationary, uniform, or overpriced books.

Leaving university feels the same as those books that abruptly end. You get to the final page and think, “What? That’s it?”, just as things were getting good, and the shock that there are no more pages leaves you feeling disappointed. As corny as tenuous as this metaphor is, it pretty much sums up how I – and probably many other graduates – currently feel.

I spent most of last night sadly scrolling through photos of the past three years on Facebook, thinking about how much I’ve changed and how I wish I could do it all over again – not because I regret the way I did university, but because I loved it so much. I had huge expectations for university life, and three years just didn’t give me enough time to do everything I wanted.

Of course, I may be looking back with rose tinted glasses. As much as I loved university, I spent at least 30% of the time crying down the phone and screaming into pillows, whilst the other 70% consisted of house parties, late night talks, and wonderful societies.

Towards the end of my final year, on the way back from a walk, I boldly told my friend that I was going to forge my own identity after university by doing exactly what I wanted to do, ‘because that’s the best way to be yourself’. I don’t think I was wrong – doing what you want to do instead of managing your actions through fear of judgement is great. But I’m annoyed that I didn’t see how far I had come in those three years. I wouldn’t have admitted that I was shy when I started university, but I was. University managed to change that, even if only slightly. I went from saying about three sentences in conversations to actively seeking out new people to talk to. I started going to the parties I’d avoided throughout secondary school. For once, I started to relax and be myself – even if I felt I wasn’t wholly myself yet.

For some people, university really is the best years of you life, so it’s only natural to feel the post-grad blues when you leave. I just wish I’d been a little more prepared.

What I Wish I Knew Before Starting University

About this time last year I was busy stocking up on cardboard boxes, books and enough tinned food to keep me from starving if the apocalypse occurred. And this was all because I would be starting my first year at uni on September 29^th. Although this year has hands down been the best year of my life, and I wouldn’t change a single bit of it, here are some things I wish I’d known…

If you’re living in halls, don’t bring a year’s supply of cleaning equipment. Due to my mother’s unhealthy obsession with wiping down every visible surface with bleach on a daily basis, she was adamant that I left for uni with two industrial sized bottles of Domestos, which just sat in the cupboard under my sink, untouched for three terms. If you’re living in halls, it’s very likely that you’ll have a cleaner who will clean your kitchen and bathroom. All you have to worry about is picking your hair out of the sink so it doesn’t get clogged (don’t wait until the water isn’t going down to do this) and making sure that last night’s rice doesn’t become a permanent presence on your saucepan.
Make notes for your seminars. For some reason, I thought that as soon as I started university I’d morph into a red wine-swirling, polo-neck wearing genius with opinions on everything and the ability to understand any book I read. This was not so. Although lectures seriously help with understanding the book, or subject you’re studying, tutors expect a little more from you in seminars. If they’re emailing you questions to think about, it’s important to actually go ahead and research them instead of just giving them a quick browse ten minutes before you leave for the seminar-otherwise you’re just left opening and closing your mouth in confusing, resembling a goldfish with flicked eyeliner.
Read the books. I was pretty attentive with my reading and made sure it was completed every week, even if it meant staying up until four in the morning to finish Book Twelve of The Odyssey because I’d decided that watching Orange is the New Black was a higher priority that day. The one time I decided not to read on of the books for my modules, only one other person turned up to the seminar-and he hadn’t read the book either. Luckily my tutor hadn’t been in the lecture so I was able to spiel off a lot of things about the apocalypse and impotence, which seemed to go down well.
It’s not compulsory to go out drinking on Fresher’s. Drinking was never my thing, and drunk people just outright annoyed me, so why I thought I’d suddenly find both of these things ‘fun’ when I came to uni is a mystery. On my first night in halls, I decided to go to the ‘party’ in the flat below, which basically consisted of a topless, stoned version of Jack Whitehall who kept showing me the ashtray he got from his ‘lads holiday’ in Amsterdam, and three other girls smoking Marlboros out of a kitchen window and doing shots of pink absinthe. Even though I kept telling myself that this was the “uni experience”,I was back in my room by 1 AM. While I had been running around throwing shots over my shoulder and pretending to be having a good time, my best friend had been tucked up in bed watching Bake Off, which was much more my cup of tea. Basically, there’ll always be someone who’s not up to drinking to hang out with.
Get involved in societies. The one thing I wish I had done this year was to join more societies. I saw university as a fresh start, and before going decided I’d join EVERYTHING – the newspaper, dance, the drama society, the feminist society, athletics. I actually didn’t join any of these, and instead wandered around the societies fair with a few flatmates, only picking up leaflets for the societies they were interested in, just in case they thought I was a massive loser for playing the violin. Societies are a great way of making friends, simply because you’ve already established that you have a common interest. Also, societies often offer exec positions, which look great on a CV.
You’re probably not going to be best friends with your flatmates. Before I moved in, I had visions of my flatmates being the cast of F.R.IE.N.D.S and uni life being like one long episode, minus the canned laughter. In actual fact, most of my flatmates didn’t leave their rooms unless they really had to, and I only properly made frends with one boy out of the thirteen people I lived with. But being friends with your flatmates isn’t the be-all and end-all of your social life. Everyone on my course was super friendly and made an effort to talk to people, and your circle expands through the societies you join and mutual friends of other people. On the other hand, I know plenty of people who are best friends with their flatmates. It can go either way.
Before you fork out £50 on the best dictaphone in PC World, check the university’s policy on recording lectures. I suffered from serious second-hand embarrassment when one of my lectures was stopped for our professor to remind a boy, in front of 200 people, that the university didn’t allow students to record their staff.
Bring ear-plugs and headphones. Being kept up by Estelle’s ‘American Boy’ being blasted at three in the morning tends to happen more often than you’d think. Also, as good as you think your music taste is, the girl below you probably doesn’t want to listen to it through her ceiling.
Get a provisional license even if you can’t drive. Carrying passports around on a night out is a real pain.
The ‘fresher’s 15’ is not a myth. My friend from home remarke that a lot of people from my Sixth Form had come back from uni a lot wider than they used to be (and I couldn’t help feeling that I was included in this). Oven chips on a daily basis may seem like a good idea, but your body won’t thank you for it.
Neither is fresher’s flu – no one is safe, no matter how strong your immune system. Stock up on Ibuprofen and always bring water to lectures. There’s nothing worse than something coughing though a lecture except being the person coughing through a lecture.
You’re going to be a little fish in a big pond again, but that’s just going to prepare you for life. You may have been the genius in your little village secondary school, but you can bet everyone else on your course was too. Once you accept that your self-validation can no longer come from getting the best grades, you’ll start to develop more as a person and learn to value yourself in new ways – as soppy as that sounds.
Grease Lightening is the best song for getting creeps away at night clubs. Nothing says “stop invading my personal space” better than not-so-accidentally punching someone during your enthusiastic dancing.
Even though “first year doesn’t count” is basically the fresher’s mantra; you still need to work hard. Getting essays done on time, attending lectures and revising in time for end of year exams will all help you avoid having a meltdown on the phone to your mum.
Double save everything. A friend of mine had a terrible experience of writing a 3000 word essay, only for her laptop to completely die the night before it was due. Memory sticks save lives.
Be yourself. University is a fresh start. You’re no longer with people who’ve seen you during your awkward emo years or when you had that terrible haircut in Year 8. You won’t be branded a ‘loser’ for playing in an orchestra, or enjoying musical theatre, or writing anymore because there are hundreds of other ‘Yous’ out there who enjoy doing those same things. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my first year at uni, it’s that it’s the one place where I can be unashamedly myself and my confidence has rocketed.

Wherever you’re going to university, I hope you have the best time – I wouldn’t change anything about my experience.