I’m sure that, for many people, university accommodation is best forgotten, being nothing more than a glorified shoebox with all the charm of a prison cell. However, though it might not be the most obvious inspiration for a sentimental ode, I want to dedicate one to Harvey Court A05. My first-year room at Gonville & Caius was the home away from home that I craved; it cheered me on during the highs and comforted me through the lows — a surrogate parent, if you will, for those moments in which my real parents couldn’t be there. It was more than a mere bed to sleep in; it was an extension of myself which saw my loved ones from home exhibited like museum artefacts across every surface: photo booth strips, teddy bears, train tickets and handwritten letters. Each item was an anchor for me during the turbulence of such a new and unfamiliar world.

“My room bore witness to tears after disappointing supervisions”

Of course, for some, moving out termly and stripping the entire room of its carefully considered decoration is purely futile hassle; accommodation is merely convenient, offering a bed, a desk and nothing more. Still, I can’t see it that way. My room bore witness to tears after disappointing supervisions, late-night screams during horror movie marathons, phone calls home with my sister, post-Mash showers at 3am, alfresco dining on the balcony, and long afternoons typing at my desk. More than anything, that room was where I began to live my lifelong dream: studying at the University of Cambridge. I’m not the only one who reflects so fondly on their first-year accommodation; I asked students at other colleges to write me their own odes, too.

For my college sister, Jen, room 104 was “a sanctuary” in the times she wanted to be a recluse, and “a stage when I craved company”. As she put it when addressing her room: “it isn’t you I miss, but rather everything that happened while I was living with you.” Her highlights include her friends perched on the floor late into the evening, the occasional porter knocking in emergencies, but also “the quiet satisfaction of calling you mine”. And that’s exactly it: our first-year accommodation is the first place many of us truly call ours, and ours alone. Jen wrote: “I’ll remember how I grew. I’ll smile with nostalgia when the next fresher takes my place. What I am trying to say, in the end, is: thank you. Although you cannot reply — being as you are an inanimate structure of four walls and a ceiling — I’ll choose to imagine that you are reading this.”

“How lucky am I to be living in a place like this?”

Aya, an English student at Christ’s remembers moving to “a brand new country with no family, friends, or anything familiar around”. Before “the roar of freshers”, the first few nights surrounded by nothing but “high ceilings” and “ornate mouldings around the fireplace” were bare and lonely. Yet, despite this flood of first-year loneliness, Aya still thought: “how lucky am I to be living in a place like this?” Each morning as she walked down the creaky stairs and through the meticulously maintained gardens, “the absurdity of living in a place like Christ’s” further dawned on her. She explained how, just like mine, the walls quickly filled up with “pictures, notes, drawings; every surface covered with some kind of trinket found at the market, or a memento of a friend, or stacked with books still unread”. She will remember her beloved window seat, used to wave at friends who were sharing their dinner in the garden below, and “posing for the tourists snapping pictures of our buildings”. I agree that these really do become “our” buildings, places we defend at all cost and therefore places that will forever hold a special place in all our hearts. Aya wrote: “when I packed up at the end of the year, most of my memories were not in this room. My life had largely happened outside of it. But I remember being scared and missing my family and having a peaceful place that reminded me every night how fortunate I am to be here.”

“Who knows what second-year accommodation might hold, the horrors of a shared bathroom for one”

At Medwards, almost all first years live in the same building which Edie praised for providing “the opportunity to bond as a cohort.” So there are hidden gems out there, nestled among the nightmarish prison cells. Some are even fitted with an en-suite and a kitchen that includes the rarely-spotted Cambridge freezer! Edie’s kitchen was “the go-to spot before and after a night out for a debrief”. Her balcony, though it took a term or two to figure out how to open it, provided the perfect space to enjoy an iced coffee while writing coursework, looking down at the gardens.

Ultimately, not every university room is infested with unidentifiable creatures or damp, mouldy walls. Dear A05, I’ve long since left you for someplace new. Who knows what second year accommodation might hold, the horrors of a shared bathroom for one, but all I know for sure is that my first-year room will always hold a special place in my heart. To all the freshers moving in, make the most of your room, because when the posters come down and the keys are handed in, you’ll realise what it truly meant to you.