Over the last three years, I’ve spent a lot of time sitting in libraries writing articles for Varsity instead of working on my weekly supervision essay. Now, sitting in the AMES library, and trying to muster up the words to write just one more before I graduate, and I’m finding myself stumbling over my words. Perhaps you’d think I’d have mastered the art of putting things into words, what with having nearly completed the English tripos. Actually, I flatter myself that I’m not a complete novice. But now, thinking about how I could ever try to sum it all up, and I’ve pulled a blank.
I’ve always been nostalgic – to a fault. Endings always make me tear up. What could possibly be more emotion-inducing than having to admit you’re growing up? As a year 6 this manifested in me making a massive fuss about the fact that I’d got into grammar school and some of my friends hadn’t, and therefore my life was over because we wouldn’t get to sing Little Mix songs together every break time. My year 6 teacher told me, in very patient terms, that I’d been given a good opportunity, and things always work out for the best. At the time I thought she could suck it, but on reflection, she really did know what she was talking about.
“I’ve always been nostalgic – to a fault. Endings always make me tear up”
As it turned out, I went to a good school and discovered that I could still make new friends. When the time came to move to Cambridge, I knew things would work out, but that didn’t stop me suffering a bout of nostalgia when I had to leave that school I was so reluctant to have gone to in the first place.
Thinking about graduating is confusing for me, then. Part of me feels a deep, sometimes overwhelming sense of nostalgia for the memories, people, and lessons that came with my move to Cambridge. Another side of me, though, feels relief. My degree has been, generally, a bit of a pain for me. I love learning, but the Cambridge way never really clicked for me. It’s been everything else that comes with the degree that has made the last three years of my life so special.
So I do feel nostalgic at the thought of graduating, but at the same time, I feel relieved. At the start of my third year, I sat in my College nurse’s office and told her that I’d never grown out of that fresher-fuelling imposter syndrome that I moved here with. Part of me feels sad that I’ve made it all the way through my degree and could count the days I felt like I was clever enough to be here on one hand. I wish I could squeeze 18-year-old me and tell her that all that anxiety and self-criticism would become easier to bear, and tell her that the pressure of being a Cambridge student is something that you get used to, even if it always feels heavy. Imposter syndrome is a nasty thing, and it’s only really in my final term at Cambridge that I’ve started to properly understand that my way of being a Cambridge student is just as good as everyone else’s. So, I do feel relieved that it’s nearly over. It’s hard; I’m ready for it to stop now.
“Try as I might, nothing will make your Cambridge degree easy”
I arrived at Caius’ Harvey Court in 2022 with every single book on the English Faculty’s Medieval reading list, and with more kitchen utensils than I could carry. I did a pretty shoddy job of the Medieval paper, and on top of that, have lost every single piece of my IKEA-purchased cutlery set. I’ve changed a lot here: I’ve found new ambitions and let go of old ones, discovered loves far beyond my love for my subject, and have managed to change my physical appearance so much that Porters aren’t always too willing to hand over parcels to me when I present my CAMcard in the plodge. Gradually, under the pressure of deadlines and essay-based-disappointments, I have grown into a version of myself that feels ready for the big wide world.
So, if you want the advice of a soon-to-be-Cambridge-grad, I’d have to refuse. I know no better. I’m just on the other side of it. I can’t give you a sharp aphorism that will suddenly make the world of Cambridge make sense. Try as I might, nothing will make your Cambridge degree easy. It’s not all sunshine and flowers, and pretty often it’s a fair few stormy afternoons stuck in your room with a book.
A million moments stick out to me, looking back at my time as a Cambridge student. Brunches in Caius every Saturday, termly visits from my parents and dog, and lunchtimes spent sitting on Sidgwick lawn with a flatbread. My first time seeing King’s’ spring bulbs in bloom as I ran to a lecture, and how much lighter I’ve always felt after chatting to my favourite porter for a few minutes as I leave College. There’s been essay feedback that has made me question why on earth they let me in, there’s been late nights in MASH that I’ve regretted dearly the next morning, and there’s been dinner everyday with my friends, always served with generous portion of setting the world to rights. Every book read has a counterpart that I never got to. Memories of pints in Cambridge pubs are paired with memories of supervisions I got through by the skin of my teeth. Formal dresses merge with fire drills. Days spent reporting on King’s Parade are paired with elaborate May Balls until 5am and exams that I colossally flopped in. Through it all, there have been days spent in the Varsity offices, the place where I found my Cambridge home, made some of my best friends, and wrote editorials until my eyes went blurry. This isn’t an ode to student journalism; rather, it’s an acknowledgement that I did it, despite the fact I sometimes thought I couldn’t. I found the things that make my imposter syndrome quieten down. Friends that help me feel a little less alone in the Cambridge bubble, and memories that make it all worth it.
I think I’ll always be nostalgic. Soon enough, I’ll look back on my time here with rose-tinted glasses, and I’ll have forgotten how much I resented my degree half of the time. But for now, I’m just proud to have made it to the other end. The day of my matriculation feels a million years ago and at the same time like yesterday. Cambridge has delighted me and destroyed me; it has taught me lessons about resilience in the same breath as lessons about prose forms. I’ve learnt how it feels to be a student who struggles, which is a feeling that me from 4 years ago couldn’t have comprehended. Cambridge’s intricacies and idiosyncrasies both delight us and demoralise us. For me? You couldn’t pay me to do it again. But my goodness, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
