First Term Stories

So they say to write what you know, yet what I know does not amount to a great deal. I’m nineteen, have huddled my way through the typical middle-class itinerary and am probably quite heavily dictated to by hear’say and BBC Breakfast in my morning haze.

At the same time, however, I could argue I am right now at my most impressionable, corruptable, most easily convinced, seduced and disgusted. I am, after all, a student, and my home is one of the busiest, most diverse cultural meccas of the world – London. I’d say my opinion and experiences are therefore pretty damn valuable, and if not, at least tug on the old heartstrings of generations who are quick to re-live their rebellious student years. Experience in student life helped me a lot on how to write essays correctly. It was when you work at work and there was very little time to write, the edubirdie resource helped me a lot, where you could choose a resource for writing an essay.

It’s Boxing Day. I am sat opposite a giant, snoring rottweiler watching one of the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels (to be honest, I lost the plot after number one,) and remembering the scandals of first term. Amongst these fond memories are my first evening in halls; repeating ‘fuck’ about a hundred times (all in my head, of course,) every time I approached a stranger. Also there was my first meeting with the personal tutor, during which I am pretty confident I cemented my teacher’s pet identity in the group, and with that caught a few dirty looks. I also recall my first university love interest, my first snakebite, and, last but not least, the first night everything got taken a little too far. That night is also known as the night I was sick on my laptop.

Student life, after all, I have found to be a life of extremes. Undoubtedly, the first term is most intense in this respect, for it matches rocketing emotions with the exhaustion of everything new. I found myself sky high one minute and coming down to tears the next, with the smallest of triggers. But, while things were going well, they went really well, and everything about London and being a student there amounted to untoppable.

The first people I met at university were a trio of girls, whom, I am proud and happy to say, have remained some of my closest friends there to date. I remember approaching them nervously whilst waiting for a halls tour the evening we all moved in and trying to act mature and respectable. Apparently, and we can laugh about it all now, they thought I was leading the tour! My efforts worked, obviously! Shock for them that I turned out to be a little more wild and a little less sensible.

As for my department (I read History,) – it was as close to love at first sight as you will ever get on the planet. It’s perfectly-sized; not too big, not too small, with a bunch of people, most of whom have cool glasses with those thick frames, who have the best brains in the world. They love to think. What’s better than that?

The social life was just as amazing, although it overwhelmed me more than the work did. I am naturally studious. And proud. At first, I had to grab onto friends I recognised and prayed that they would not think me a leech but take me on happily. I vividly recall getting lost in clubs and dancing with groups of strangers until I saw someone I knew to join. As for the boys – they were many and varied. More importantly, however, as far as I could see – every one of them was good-looking. Success.