I begin todays post with a revelation. In 222 days time I will be walking from my childhood and into my new life as a proper adult at university. And in preparation, in exactly one month’s time I will be attending the Open Day at my university of choice. I am most excited.
But somewhere deep down inside of me, I am a little bit scared, and yes I am big enough to admit that. Not about moving away from home or being away from my family because, let’s be honest, that was never going to be a bad thing. No, but more importantly, what if university life doesn’t match up to the image I’ve been building up in my head over the last eight months?
But somewhere deep down inside of me, I am a little bit scared, and yes I am big enough to admit that. Not about moving away from home or being away from my family because, let’s be honest, that was never going to be a bad thing. No, but more importantly, what if university life doesn’t match up to the image I’ve been building up in my head over the last eight months?
I can’t speak for anybody else, but for me, my idea of university life is somewhat like Hogwarts, only without all the magic and Snape.
University and the lifestyle that comes with it is a place of mystic and knowledge, of passion, lust, love, dusty old books and glitter. A place of music and candles, neon lights and second hand tea-pots, because we couldn’t afford mugs for coffee like the rich students. And it would be a wonderful life. With the occasional hangover.
University and the lifestyle that comes with it is a place of mystic and knowledge, of passion, lust, love, dusty old books and glitter. A place of music and candles, neon lights and second hand tea-pots, because we couldn’t afford mugs for coffee like the rich students. And it would be a wonderful life. With the occasional hangover.
However, despite my ideals and conceptions about university, recently a friend of mine has just made the decision to drop out after just one semester. Which truly baffled me no end. I mean, this girl is smart and a hard worker. She toughed it out through our exams on a mixture of fifteen minute cat naps on the common room couch and many a no-doze washed down with a swig of espresso, and managed to get into the top university in the state to study law.
And now has decided to pack it in and move back home. I mean, why? I just can’t fathom the idea that after all that hard work, after the exams and the applications just to get into said university, after six months of study, why someone would wake up one morning and think: ‘I’ve had enough of hangovers and toga parties. Time to move back home'.
And now has decided to pack it in and move back home. I mean, why? I just can’t fathom the idea that after all that hard work, after the exams and the applications just to get into said university, after six months of study, why someone would wake up one morning and think: ‘I’ve had enough of hangovers and toga parties. Time to move back home'.
And this, dear reader, is what makes my tummy go all queasy, and not that third serving on chocolate pudding I just ate. There are such high rates of students dropping out of university mid way through their studies in comparison to those students who stay there for the long haul. Perhaps I’m naive and simply disillusioned. Perhaps university life is not what I think it is. Maybe it’s not all friends and handsome professors. What if studying at university is actually about study?
I’ve made the decision to take twelve months off from university and work, rest and play. Which has proven to be a wonderful idea. Yet there is not a day that goes by in which I lay in my bed and dream of my future, in which I am successful and happy. I know that sounds horribly cliched and corny, but it’s true.
But this dream is a long way off at the very end of of a very long tunnel. And I know deep down inside that to have the life I dream of, to have the career and the life style I crave, I need to get to university and work my butt off. So personally, for me tertiary study is the only option; there’s no back-up plan. It’s not sink or swim. It’s go-and-jump-off-a-bridge or succeed.
So am I the only one? Doesn’t every other VCE student dream of the day that they are handed that diploma in their funny little hat firmly in their hands and look out into the crowd of friends and family and say proudly ‘yes, I’ve done it. And I was only drunk for half the time!’
So am I the only one? Doesn’t every other VCE student dream of the day that they are handed that diploma in their funny little hat firmly in their hands and look out into the crowd of friends and family and say proudly ‘yes, I’ve done it. And I was only drunk for half the time!’
If people weren’t interested in going to university, then why would we all bother? Why do people even bother finishing high-school, let alone going on to further study? Is everyone else simply like me? Do we all sit at home dreaming up ridiculous notions of university where handsome professors roams the halls whilst I sit in the cafe with my friends going over notes with a latte, or is the truth simply much more boring? Is university just high school?
This is actually really frightening. Truthfully. Is it really as glorious and fantastic as I imagine? Or is it simply school all over again, except you can get away with sleeping through lectures without fear of a phone call home to your agitated mother. What if I hate it and want to come home? What if I never succeed and end up working in IGA forever?
I’ll let you know in a month’s time...
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