Despite committing to one another ‘till death do us part’, my wife is leaving me. This pending departure has not arisen out of arguments or unfaithfulness, but worse yet: the year abroad. If this heartbreak wasn’t enough, my college sister is also preparing to embark for her year of working in France. Thus, the end of Lent marks the completion of my penultimate term of university with two of my best friends.

It was not until we were lounging by the river with final essays submitted, picky bits and tinnies in hand, and the sun beginning to dip that the horrifying revelation truly hit me. I am obviously extremely excited for the adventures that my friends will experience across the Channel, but I can’t help but feel conflicted with this lingering feeling – this dread or sadness when I think about navigating my final year with such an irreplaceable absence.

“How do you go from being just a couple doors and a knock away to living in different countries?”

To prevent this becoming an entirely sombre, self-pitying expression of mourning and despair, there certainly are pros to the situation that are deserving of recognition first. Primarily, of course, it is a great opportunity for my friends to study and work in a new location abroad and build important life skills. But quickly circling back to me, having friends living in new cities abroad offers a more substantial justification to escape Cambridge for a quick weekend away. It also means the trip comes with a (hopefully) knowledgeable tour guide who can identify the underrated hotspots and save you the painful attempts of figuring out which direction Google Maps is telling you to walk in. Best believe I have already begun to envision myself thriving on a wine-tasting tour of Bordeaux before hopping on the Eurostar and strolling along the canals of Amsterdam. Such provisional plans provide a refreshing break to look forward to among the impending academic demands of the d*ssertation.

While I have known of these pending trips abroad for a while now, I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that a third of my university experience won’t feature two of the people who have played such significant roles in helping me survive the first two years of it. Whether it be a room delivery of chelsea buns and chocolate after a traumatic “I’m going to drop out, for real this time” supervision as a fresher or completing the half marathon together, my friends have always been right by my side, attached at the hip even. How do you go from being just a couple doors and a knock away to living in different countries? Initially, I thought their absence would be felt most during core Cambridge experiences such as May Week. But upon reflection, I think it will be the simple things that will be the hardest adjustments: debriefing after a night out while we revisit past situations from the hundredth new angle, or the knowing looks made across the table in the library when a coffee break to vent the crisis of the day is well overdue.

“My friends will get to experience another year of university before entering the real world”

I already feel major FOMO about the fact that, upon returning from their excursions abroad, my friends will get to experience another year of university before entering the *trigger warning* real world. And while I regularly offer my fair share of complaints about the uni workload, truth be told, I love it here even among the tight deadlines and chaos. A panic master isn’t completely off the table just yet. But, nonetheless, when I think about the year abroads, I have a slight paradoxical sense of being left behind while simultaneously being prematurely thrown ahead, out of the academic bubble, and into the real world.

Clearly I can’t deny the occasional waves of sadness at the thought of my friends’ year abroad, but such conflicting emotions are, in themselves, a testament to a well-spent past two years of university. And not to be excessively cliché, but change is part of life, and how dull would it be for us all if things remained rigidly static? I already feel sick with anticipatory nostalgia and have been reminiscing on old photos like a mother sending off her child to its first day of school. Equally, however, this awareness has enabled me to ensure that I truly cherish the upcoming Easter term even among the hecticness of coursework and revision.

Despite preconceived notions from stories as a child that true love would be purely romantic, in many respects, it’s through my platonic soulmates that I’ve learnt the diverse ways love manifests itself. And what a privilege it is to have people in my life whose absence will be felt so strongly.