Reading about other people’s milestones can often feel a bit like listening to someone recount a very long and boring dream they had: that is, it’s literally the least interesting thing ever. I’ve long felt this way about things like graduation – hearing people lament about how fast it’s gone, how much they’re going to miss it all, and how lucky you are to still be in the midst of it, doesn’t tend to have the desired effect when you have three essays due yesterday, and want nothing more than to run away from Cambridge and never return.

That is, until I hit the halfway point of my degree this term. The middle of the term itself came and went with very little fanfare, but the realisation that I’ve now been at Cambridge for more time than I have left has plagued me ever since. I’ve become one of those people who points out when it’s the last time I’m doing something mundane: last time in Caius library this Lent, submitting my final piece of stats work… you get the idea.

“How can it have been 18 months […] since I cried my way through Freshers’ Week wanting to go home?”

I think part of the bemusement comes from the pace of it all. The finalists might have a point here – it really is a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ situation. How can it have been 18 months since I first dragged all my earthly possessions up the Harvey Court stairs, since I cried my way through Freshers’ Week wanting to go home?

There were points, sitting at my Halfway Hall, surrounded by friends I only met a short time ago but, in many ways, feel I must have known forever, where I realised how much has changed. Moments like these often carry the pressure of built-up expectations about how you should feel – am I enjoying The Cambridge Experience enough, or am I wasting it? – but the reality is so much more mixed. And this is necessary: formals and May Balls have their place, but it’s the mundane, the ‘real’ aspects of Cambridge life that are most formative. I’ve learnt the most from the days spent doing supo work on one hour of sleep, or when I’ve made the incredibly wise decision to go out four nights in a row when I have an essay due the following week (no, it did not get done in time).

“It’s the mundane, the ‘real’ aspects of Cambridge life that are most formative”

There’s a special feeling associated with being at this point in the process. You feel more settled than you did in first year, and you’re not yet being bombarded by the dreaded question of “what are you doing with the rest of your life?”. If you’re lucky, you’re also not staring down the barrel of degree-defining exams, so next term is shaping up to be one for the history books, social life-wise.Being in that in-between allows you to enjoy it all that much more. Some days, it feels like the whole world is ahead of you, like these really are the best days of your life, and you would give anything to live in week eight of Lent forever. On others, the terror of third year and beyond looms large, and the weeks feel like they’re flying by mercilessly.

The terrible word ‘dissertation’ is starting to creep into conversations with my DoS, and every time I open LinkedIn I’m faced with 500 of my peers who’ve managed to bag internships at Downing Street or The Times, or somewhere else just as nauseatingly impressive. But none of it feels quite real yet. The big wide world is waiting on the other side of it all, but for now, I’m content to plod along as though none of that exists.

“I’ve changed in every conceivable way, and I’m so glad for it”

My 18-year-old self wouldn’t believe it if someone told her everything I’ve done since I arrived on that very rainy day in October. I’ve changed in every conceivable way, and I’m so glad for it. I’ve met the most wonderful people, achieved levels of procrastination previously thought humanly impossible, and single-handedly eaten my way through the Varsity office’s supply of Biscoff biscuits (and that’s just this term). But most importantly, I think Cambridge might finally feel… right for me? I’m right where I’m meant to be, and I can’t wait to spend another year here, doing as little work as physically possible, and having the time of my life doing it.

I will spare you all the clichéd advice for the freshers following in my footsteps: yes, it goes quicker than you can imagine; yes, it’s quite hard and, frankly, not very glamorous most of the time; no, you’ll never be able to go a full term without pulling an all-nighter. But I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather spend these three years.