I wasn’t planning on applying to Cambridge at all. I went to a state school in the Oxfordshire countryside: nothing too rough, but certainly not a school with a stellar record on sending pupils to Oxbridge. When I changed my mind, it was to see if I was good enough to get in; I never seriously considered coming here. And then I was made an offer to study HSPS at St John’s, and I didn’t see how I could refuse.

Before coming here, I was so sure that I wouldn’t fit in. I was wrong. I have never fitted in anywhere like I fit in here. I was the shy, nerdy girl who was picked on at school. Here, I am the confident, nerdy girl who will talk back to anyone who even tries to pick on her.

I’m going to miss being a student – at what other point in my life will it be socially acceptable to eat cereal for three meals of the day, to stay in Cindies until closing, to flash my chest in the St Catz bar (actually, I’m not sure that was acceptable even at the time). When else am I going to sit up late with my housemates, in hysterics and not even sure what was so funny in the first place.

I’m going to miss the city. I’m going to miss the beauty of the sun when it hits King’s College in the mornings. I’m going to miss the splendour of the Fitz gardens in summer. I will miss sitting on the backs during May Week and drinking cheap cava straight from the bottle. I will miss walking over the Bridge of Sighs, cycling over orgasm bridge, running along the river. This city has become my home; its nooks and crannies have become my hideaways.

Some of my happiest moments have been spent on the river Cam. I’ve spent hours on it, rowing, sculling, and coxing. I’ve gone out in the rain, in the sun, in the thunder and the lightning and the hail. I’ve cycled alongside it, shouting encouragements to novice crews. I’ve navigated its difficult corners with my crew, urging them on, promising them that we’re gaining, we’re close, we’re going to bump them. This, at least, I am determined not to lose. It is perhaps an unusual requirement that where I move to when I graduate needs to have a river, but that is one of the targets I have set myself.

I will miss the madness of May Week. I will miss that heady feeling of sitting in the final exam of the term, watching the clock count down, writing that last sentence, squeezing that last bit of knowledge out of your exhausted brain. The joy of emerging from the exam room, as you unite with your friends and go relax on the backs. Staying awake until the early hours of the morning, dancing at your May Ball, sipping cocktails with your friends.

I’m going to miss the friends that I’ve made here the most. I’m going to miss the women I live with, who are in turn funny, and sarcastic, and grouchy, and kind and wonderful. I will miss the friends I made at rowing: the girl who always told me to chill, the summer rower who showed up for the sun each year, the stroke seat who could always make me laugh.

I will miss all of the random people who have wormed their way into my heart along the way: the shy mathmo who always listens, the girl who started out as my clubbing partner and became one of my closest friends, the sarcastic ex-roommate.

Ultimately, though, I may not be ready to go; I feel like I’m not really leaving. I will still have friends here, I will still come back to visit them. And who knows? I could always do a master’s degree.