The Cambridge I arrived at was similar to the one I constructed in my head. Cobbled pathways lined the streets, lavish dining halls brimmed with paintings across different centuries and the pile of law textbooks sitting in my room gradually grew to conquer my entire bookshelf. Though the ‘unprecedented circumstances we are in’ marred my freshers week – with the fancy welcome dinner, night outs at Cindy’s and Life all postponed – the promise of the city still prevailed. 

After mulling over the prospect of studying here for months on end, I was afraid that the reality of life in Cambridge would fall short of the idealised version I had imagined. During lockdown, I lived vicariously through the edited shots of Paige Y and Alexandra Sive’s videos, anticipating the days where I could frequent the same cafes and stroll along the same streets. On my bedside table lay my DoS’ guide to law school so that I could thoroughly read his advice in hopes of impressing him. Articles I found online described the intensity of the course, recounting horror stories of essay crises and mental health episodes. The Cambridge I heard of was home to some of the finest minds, consisted of intense academic rigour and was steeped in tradition  - would I ever be able to call this place home? 

"Day by day, through collective complaints of our workloads, impromptu spa nights and homemade meals prepared together, our shared experiences bring us closer."

Now, it has been three weeks since I have left Malaysia and I have already managed to pick up the strange (and totally unnecessary) jargon. We have a plodge, not a porter’s lodge. We buy our groceries from Mainsbury’s, not Sainsbury’s. We collect food from trough, not the dining hall. Besides the Cambridge-specific lingo, I am now accustomed to hearing ‘what’s the (covid-secure) motive tonight?’ or ‘that’s so peak’ on a regular basis. I have also put it upon myself to routinely drink tea and snack on biscuits as a rite of passage into British culture. My verdict: Jaffa cakes? Rank. Jammy dodgers? Peng. 

As expected, the work poured in before I even arrived. Pre-recorded lectures were released in advance and my essay on Civil law was due on the first Monday of term. Five days in, I spent the better part of the night crouched over my laptop reading about Gaius and Justinian – historical figures who, I admit, I did not know existed a week ago. Latin terms were poorly laced in my essay as I struggled to grasp the Roman legal system within a matter of days. In the throes of a pandemic, the pace of work neither slowed nor braked: it simply resumed. This system of extensive reading lists, writing essays and preparing for supervisions was a glimpse of what the next three years had in store for me. Amidst a very tiresome day of work, I found myself returning to a reminder from my Sixth Form teacher that she had some of her highest highs and lowest lows in Cambridge. For every essay that is dissected and criticised by my supervisor, there is one that will receive a seal of approval. For every night I spend studying, there will be another dedicated to having fun. Perhaps, I was blinded by my fantasy of Cambridge to see that my time here will be about punting in the River Cam as much as it will be shaped by daily runs to Wasabi after a poor supervision or a stressful evening. 

I wonder sometimes if Newton or Keynes, Lee Kuan Yew or David Attenborough passed by the same bridges I cross and buildings I enter. It is equally exciting to envisage where my fellow classmates will end up. Would I have lived next to the future head of the World Bank? Or gone to Spoons with a leading architect? Coming to Cambridge is like entering a treasure trove of future leaders, barristers, civil servants, doctors, engineers and so forth. I have met people from some of the most elite schools in the country and others who are the first in their family to enter university. These are students of Land Economy, HSPS, Literature, History and Politics, Natural Sciences who also somehow make time for rowing, choir, orchestra, rugby, theatre, youth parliament and skiing. Day by day, through collective complaints of our workloads, impromptu spa nights and homemade meals prepared together, our shared experiences bring us closer. I may even dare to say that Cambridge is beginning to feel like home. 

And as for my favourite moment so far, it would have to be matriculation. While the Master of the College recited verses in Latin, decked out in a Hogwarts-esque gown, the boy sitting next to me whispered that our flatmate’s grand-uncle had just received the Nobel prize for Physics. He worked closely with the late Stephen Hawking and together, established a singularity theorem. In any other context, this occasion would have been widely absurd, perhaps even impossible. But in a university like Cambridge, it was just another day.