“Call me as soon as you get to Kings Cross OK? Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine. Good luck with everything next week and call me after your first day. Arrgh I’m going to miss you so much! I can’t believe it’s all over already!”
That’s my housemate and best friend Sophie trying to console me at Leamington Spa train station. It’s a bright, early-summer morning in the midlands- June 2nd 2008 in fact. I’m leaving university today.
I’m loaded up with two crammed suitcases, my laptop and a bag of Tesco supplies, about to board the train to London, my new home. Soph and I are both hugging each other on the platform and crying uncontrollably, like a couple of, well, girls. I struggle to get all my stuff on the train (I simply NEEDED to take all those clothes) and find a window seat. The carriage begins to move, I blink back tears and wave to Soph who is still there, still crying, waving back.
That’s my housemate and best friend Sophie trying to console me at Leamington Spa train station. It’s a bright, early-summer morning in the midlands- June 2nd 2008 in fact. I’m leaving university today.
I’m loaded up with two crammed suitcases, my laptop and a bag of Tesco supplies, about to board the train to London, my new home. Soph and I are both hugging each other on the platform and crying uncontrollably, like a couple of, well, girls. I struggle to get all my stuff on the train (I simply NEEDED to take all those clothes) and find a window seat. The carriage begins to move, I blink back tears and wave to Soph who is still there, still crying, waving back.
The lump in my throat gags me as I try to fight it back down. I can’t believe it, university is over.
Those last precious weeks all happened so fast. Revision, more revision, final exams, that last (somewhat blurred) week of celebrating. I didn’t want to think about leaving, but reality soon slapped me in the face- my time as a student was swiftly coming to an end and there was nothing I could about it. The few days prior to departure were packed with soppy farewells- friends, acquaintances, tutors, even Ali, the owner of our local curry house was subjected to an emotional final visit, his late night curries were a salvation on a scale that he’ll never know.
I purposely neglected to consider my post-university life with much seriousness. I knew I had to make a career move of some sort, but what form this career would take was somewhat ubiquitous. My history degree, however wonderful, didn’t provide an obvious career path. My mundane existence in the month preceding exams was spent exclusively in the library (with the occasional trip to the library café, for an exciting change of scene). It provided enough scholarly distraction to ensure my complete ignorance of the looming future- well, the future past finals anyway. On reflection, it’s a good thing I was offered a job that April (thankfully the Credit Crunch hadn’t really took off yet) or I might have had to move back home to my parents’, and I certainly didn’t want to go back home now.
Not knowing what else to do with myself (and living in the dregs of my once-again-extended overdraft), I accepted the job and was scheduled to begin in June, the week after my last exam. So to London it was.
I know I sounded like a sap, but what I felt on that train was a mishmash of conflicting emotion. Fear and intense excitement both gnawed away at me. There was excitement of the unknown, a new challenge, new people, a new city. I feared it because I knew life was never going to be the same again.
What did I have to look forward to? My first grown-up job. Responsibility. Life without 10% off in TOPSHOP. The underground. Council tax. 9am- 6pm.
Those last precious weeks all happened so fast. Revision, more revision, final exams, that last (somewhat blurred) week of celebrating. I didn’t want to think about leaving, but reality soon slapped me in the face- my time as a student was swiftly coming to an end and there was nothing I could about it. The few days prior to departure were packed with soppy farewells- friends, acquaintances, tutors, even Ali, the owner of our local curry house was subjected to an emotional final visit, his late night curries were a salvation on a scale that he’ll never know.
I purposely neglected to consider my post-university life with much seriousness. I knew I had to make a career move of some sort, but what form this career would take was somewhat ubiquitous. My history degree, however wonderful, didn’t provide an obvious career path. My mundane existence in the month preceding exams was spent exclusively in the library (with the occasional trip to the library café, for an exciting change of scene). It provided enough scholarly distraction to ensure my complete ignorance of the looming future- well, the future past finals anyway. On reflection, it’s a good thing I was offered a job that April (thankfully the Credit Crunch hadn’t really took off yet) or I might have had to move back home to my parents’, and I certainly didn’t want to go back home now.
Not knowing what else to do with myself (and living in the dregs of my once-again-extended overdraft), I accepted the job and was scheduled to begin in June, the week after my last exam. So to London it was.
I know I sounded like a sap, but what I felt on that train was a mishmash of conflicting emotion. Fear and intense excitement both gnawed away at me. There was excitement of the unknown, a new challenge, new people, a new city. I feared it because I knew life was never going to be the same again.
What did I have to look forward to? My first grown-up job. Responsibility. Life without 10% off in TOPSHOP. The underground. Council tax. 9am- 6pm.
I had a lot to learn.
I’ve been living and working in London now for almost a year and I can safely say that my fears were wildly exaggerated. Life has completely changed, and I’ve learned that that’s not always a bad thing. This time last year I was a library-dwelling, nervous wreck revising for exams and now I’m making the first steps in my career, excited about what the future may hold.
Actually, when I think about it, the whole three years of university flew by at a blurring rate - and I don’t think it was because of the number of snakebite and blacks consumed.
That day at the station marked such a turning point that I was blissfully unaware of at the time. They say that your university years are the best three of your life. I just hope that they were the best three years of my life so far.
I’ve been living and working in London now for almost a year and I can safely say that my fears were wildly exaggerated. Life has completely changed, and I’ve learned that that’s not always a bad thing. This time last year I was a library-dwelling, nervous wreck revising for exams and now I’m making the first steps in my career, excited about what the future may hold.
Actually, when I think about it, the whole three years of university flew by at a blurring rate - and I don’t think it was because of the number of snakebite and blacks consumed.
That day at the station marked such a turning point that I was blissfully unaware of at the time. They say that your university years are the best three of your life. I just hope that they were the best three years of my life so far.
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