I first moved to Cambridge in 2016 to pursue a Bachelor of Arts in a humanistic subject. I then went on to complete a master’s degree at Judge Business School, and am now ready to bid farewell to the city and institution that hosted me during these crucial years. I always saw my MPhil as a way to delay my departure and extend what had been the best time of my life so far. However, 9 months later I am leaving with mixed feelings and the impression that this final step did not live up to my initial excitement. I am an international student. I did not come from a typical background for my undergraduate cohort. I had stumbled across Cambridge almost by mistake at the age of 16 and went on to pursue it as a whimsical teenage dream. Maybe for this reason, I first entered my college with a heavy baggage of rosy expectations (occasionally fuelled by the vlogs of Jake Wright, who was still a student at the time). 

For the most part, I was not disappointed. Cambridge delivered an exceptional experience, both in human and reputational terms. In this regard, I am pretty sure that I did not learn more than my peers back in continental Europe. In fact, I was quite surprised by the workload, which I believe is noticeably milder than what most college students face in their home countries. However, the University’s mighty reputation made me look like a genius back home and it impressed employers. For this reason, I understand that my complaints might look petty and irrelevant. Yet, I cannot ignore the lasting effects that these issues had over my university experience.

"I came to Cambridge expecting paradise. It was not. Was it Cambridge’s fault though, or were my expectations simply misguided?"

Seneca, the Stoic philosopher, wrote in a letter: “cease to hope […] and you will cease to fear”. His words are a cautionary tale against the danger of high expectations and the way in which they might distort our own perception of reality. I came to Cambridge expecting paradise. It was not. Was it Cambridge’s fault though, or were my expectations simply misguided?

For a start, I realised that whilst earning a place at Cambridge seems to be primarily a matter of academic achievements, non-academic factors are just as important. Applying for master’s scholarships is a murky and difficult process. Despite having topped my BA and having graduated with the highest three-year average, I did not succeed in securing any merit-based bursary, nor one dependent on financial needs (albeit being in receipt of a full Cambridge bursary throughout my undergraduate). While limited resources are an obvious reality, the University’s focus on meritocracy and academic excellence makes it easy to forget that being smart is not a sufficient condition to secure a spot.

The uneasy sense of being treated like a cash cow (masters’ are notoriously expensive, with my course coming close to £30,000) progressed as I began the programme. During an induction lecture, the course director told us out of the blue not to expect the same support and perks as the MBA students (a programme academically close to mine but with considerably higher tuition fees). The sudden remark, together with the difficulties that I had faced in gathering funds, reminded me that strong academic achievements were only one side of my time at Cambridge. The fact that most Cambridge students come from relatively privileged backgrounds is unsurprising. What occurred to me, though, was the fact that this collided spectacularly with the narrative of meritocracy proposed by the University. 

"By attending this university we all bought into the hype and excitement that surrounds its name and I have no intention of surrendering it by openly declaring that my experience was, at times, subpar"

The idiosyncrasy of Cambridge’s hyped academic reputation became even more apparent to me when, in March, I sat revised exams, held online because of the ongoing pandemic. While the Vice-Chancellor was emphasising the importance of “academic rigour” in his weekly newsletters, my course mates and I were delighted to find out that the text of one of our papers had been leaked a month earlier in the form of an exercise sheet. While we probably all submitted the same answer (and actually received the same feedback in a copy&paste fashion) the marks’ range was surprisingly wide, making us wonder what kind of magic had made such a beautiful mishap possible. 

On this note, I would like to make it clear to readers that I have no moralising intentions. By attending this university we all bought into the hype and excitement that surrounds its name and I have no intention of surrendering it by openly declaring that my experience was, at times, subpar. I am writing this piece more as an insider joke. We are often sold as the best grads from the best institution in the world, even though most of us (hopefully) know that this is hardly the case.

The final crack in the mirror came at the end of Lent 2020, when Covid-19 plunged Europe (and the University) into chaos and most colleges pushed students out of their accommodation. Once again, my high trust in  the University’s capabilities was put to the test when I was told to return home, supposedly a safer place, even though my parents live in what was then the worst-affected region in Europe. Three months later, I still have no idea of when we will be summoned to retrieve our belongings, which we were advised to haphazardly leave in our rooms. My college has made it very clear, though, that internationals would not be able to spend more than a few hours in their rooms to sort out their lives: pack your stuff, send it away and then vanish as soon as possible on the next available flight. On this note, I was also surprised by the lack of care regarding graduations, as my college did not communicate to master’s students the date of their in absentia ceremony (even more depressingly, I know of friends from other colleges who failed to graduate in July due to unclear information about the application process). 

In the midst of the emergency, Cambridge’s response did not live up to my expectations. After years of being told about being part of the “Cambridge community” and being “a distinguished member of [X] College” I thought that all this “belonging” would mean something during the ongoing crisis. Seneca would say that I had hoped for too much.

 In Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert invites us to “never touch your idols” or “the gilding will stick to your fingers”. This roughly sums up my final year at Cambridge. Here I grew up, enjoying every second of it. However, the past few months also prompted me to reassess my own understanding of this experience and the fact that, despite institutional posturing, the University has many, profound issues. I now leave as a more mature person, maybe a tad cynical, certainly less adoring than the 19-year-old me that moved to the UK 4 years ago. At the time, I sure had high hopes and excessive expectations.