It’s almost over. Three years spent in this crazy place have gone by in the blink of an eye and the end has almost (though not quite) taken me by surprise. I’ve been waiting for it for so long – complaining about how much I ‘hate’ Cambridge and its ‘stupid’ exams and the ‘ridiculous’ amount of work that comes with it for three whole years – and yet, here I am, at the end, being not quite ready to leave it.

What do I have now, after three years here? There’s a saying that a girl should graduate from Cambridge with ‘a First, a Blue or a husband’. I’ve been far too busy doing other things to work on my degree to get the First. My sporting prowess is about as promising as England’s chances of winning the World Cup, ruling out the Blue as well. As for the husband… well, although I’ve had a few proposals over the last few years, getting hitched has definitely been one of the last things on my mind.

But whilst the traditional ‘magic three’ has left me unperturbed, I am taking so many other things with me out into the real world – the most memorable moments, the things I will miss…

I still remember my first day here so clearly – how I thought that Cambridge was a magical place. I was so scared (like so many of us are) that everyone else was a genius and I was the fraud. However, I soon realised that we all felt the same –we were just a bunch of pretty smart kids with a ton of insecurities. We weren’t ‘all’ rich and posh - we were different; coming from various backgrounds, and united in our anxiety over what was to come. We all somehow fitted in, finding our group, our clique: the medics; the rowers; the cool ‘alternative’ arts students. I found myself in between all of those – not quite able to place myself in a box, but nonetheless happy with where I was.

And so Cambridge life began. While some expect the most memorable moments here to be bumping into Stephen Hawking by the river or having the ultimate ‘Harry Potter’ formal in a centuries’ old hall, surprisingly the things that stuck with me the most are  still quirkily old-fashioned: things I wasn’t supposed to do, like every time I skipped on the King’s lawn at night, feeling like the naughtiest child; or that time I jumped on the Jesus horse and my dress broke all the way at the back; or all the nights spent laughing hysterically with my best friend, having orange peel fights or playing volleyball with an inflated condom and making silly ‘that’s what she said’ jokes that cracked us up for no reason whatsoever.

It’s things like this that I will miss; also the beauty of the Cambridge buildings, which made me feel so often like I was living in a castle; soaking in the brightness of the intellectuals that surrounded me, so passionate about their subjects. I will miss the bubble…

I won’t miss the two ‘friends’ that followed me around and whom I was unable to kick out of my head– Anna and Dean (as I named them, for Anxiety and Depression). They came in uninvited and screamed vile words into my ears, making me crumble to the floor, crushing me under their vice, making me unable to function. They hurt me and were part of me for so long that I became an expert at putting up a shield in the form of a happy smile for others, letting few (too few, perhaps) know of my inner battles.

I will, however, miss those who made me get through it. The incredible people along the way, who made me learn more than my degree could have ever done. Those who have helped me grow – intellectually, by constantly challenging me; and as a person, by teaching me how to deal with the most random scenarios, which will most certainly come in handy later on in life (or not – telling your supervisor that she has ‘great boobs’ is not something I ever intend to do).

I’m so grateful I’ve spent these years here – no matter how much we mutter that we should have gone to a different university (other than Oxford, God forbid) to have more fun and study less hard. We’ve done it, we somehow managed to get through it all – and that feeling of joy and relief when the champagne fizz finally hits you after your last exam makes it all worth it (future job prospects added as a bonus).

I’d like to think that people here will remember me for making them laugh and for having a ‘let’s not give a fuck’ perspective on life. But I know that the memory of me will fade– people will forget I was here. I will get lost in the trail of time and thousands of other students will take my place. I will be nothingness to Cambridge, and yet it’s been so much to me. I almost want to have my name engraved on a stone, like Xu Zhimo does at the back of King’s, so I can leave a last mark before the wind of time gives my memory the blow of death.

But I can’t – I am, along with a thousand others, a larva ready to get out of my cocoon, become a Cantab butterfly and soar around the world, though I have no idea where the wind will take me. It’s so damn difficult to figure out who you are and what you should be doing. The ‘options’ that a Cambridge degree gives you now seem oppressive, by their sheer range alone.

Regardless, I now have to leave Cambridge behind. What I will do now is spread my wings as far as I can, fly to the furthest stretch and make a difference out there, however small it may be. That will be my way of coming back here. When the dust will settle over my name in the University graduation registers, there is one thing that can bring me back: actions. So I will go out there and try to make myself known. And then, maybe – just maybe – I will still be remembered here, back in good old Cambridge.