8th week: when everything comes together.

Wow. 8th Week. What a relief. It wasn't easy but we made it. This week I had the hardest essay of term to do. Writing the last essay of term is hard enough as it is; you don't have the same drive you had at the beginning of term and you can smell the Christmas vacation approaching. That means all you really want to do is stop now, blow it, you'll be off soon anyway. But when the last essay is the most challenging you just can't do that. You still have to get through one more tutorial and you can't sit in front of someone passionate about Dante and tell them you actually couldn't be bothered with this one, because it was the last of term. No. That would be offensive and embarrassing. You have to keep going, try and give it the same amount of effort as you had for the previous seven weeks. So that's what I did. It was painful, but I gave it one last push and whacked out the final essay of term. Eighth-week syndrome showed though. It was a bit of a train wreck of an essay. Thoughts are confused and you can tell there has been a bit of a rush to finish it. It was done though, that was the main thing. And with the last essay complete all that was left was Christmas formal to look forward to!

Christmas formal is always a special occasion. "Formal hall" is what you call it when the canteen cooks a special meal in college and everyone gets dressed up for it. The Principal says a few words in Latin and someone bangs a stick. It varies from college to college but St Anne's is the most relaxed and we only have formal every two weeks or so, whereas some colleges have it every night! Anyway "Christmas Formal" is even more special than normal formal - you get more food and its christmassy! Not only that but it marks the end of term and is a great way to celebrate survival with all your friends. And the Principal gives a speech. It's all very Harry-Potter-esque and this year was even better than normal The Principal's speech was great and he told a Christmas story using people in college to play the main roles. It was hilarious and then all of high table (that's all the professors who sit on the high table at the end of the hall - like in Harry Potter) sung us a Christmas carol. There's nothing quite like seeing people in high places acting silly. It was really fun and reminded me why the Oxford experience is so special. That wasn't it though.

After Christmas Formal we had the Christmas College Bop (like what we had in 0th week, it's like a college disco.) It was so much fun to party with all my friends together. For the first time in term all the linguists were out, everyone had finished there work - or almost- and we could all have a care-free dance together, without any randomers or sleeze-bags around. It was just what I had been waiting for all term. Everyone I loved together, finally free from work (for now) and ready for a much-needed Christmas break. No more essays or deadlines for a few weeks - What a Christmas miracle!

7th Week: Hitting rock bottom and bouncing right back up again.

This week I hit rock bottom. It happens to us all at one point or another. In some ways it's a relief when you get there. When you hit a low, there is something reassuring about the fact that things can only get better (as the song goes.) After a very monotonous term, swallowing one piece of work after another and then spitting them back out, like a factory machine, I found myself in one of the most stressful weeks of term, losing the will to go on. I had lots of deadlines approaching and it was my turn to give a presentation. Surprisingly though the low came after the deadline, not before. I had finished all of my work, delivered the dreaded presentation, but, unfortunately for me, none of my friends had. Not knowing what to do with myself, having finished all the set work for the week (that never happens!) I went back to the library with all my friends frantically finishing off their work. I sat there, feeling haggard, looking rough with that post-deadline bags-under-eyes-frizzy-hair-spaced-out-expression. I basically looked like the poster-girl for the "before" photo for a hair product ad. But I didn't want to go home, or watch TV or relax. What I wanted to was to do something crazy and wild. I needed to find some outlet for all the built-up adrenaline and stress after seven weeks of pumping out endless translations, essays and presentations. I wanted to do something out of the ordinary; ride a motorcycle, run into a field, go on a roller-coaster  get drunk, scream, sing, anything to make the most of my (temporary) freedom and release the built up emotion. But, when I looked around all I found was other stressed faces, still focused, still working . I had no one to share my freedom/celebrate with me.

Of course, as sod's law goes, just as I was in this moment of low, I received a text from my ex. He was in a pub near college and wondered if I wanted to go an meet him. On the one hand this filled me with excitement - finally someone to celebrate my new-found freedom with - but then, I looked in them mirror and realized this was probably the worst state I would like to be in to socialize with lots of people, especially an ex-boyfriend. It would take me too long to cycle all the way home, shower and come back. So I though, what the hell, it doesn't matter what I look like, I can still have fun. As I walked into the pub I realized this was an absolute lie. Everyone else looked amazing. Perfectly preened, glowing complexions, dressed to party. I felt so inadequate. Feeling insecure has a huge impact on social skills- in a bad way. I quickly left feeling frustrated and with a massive blow to the self- esteem. I felt like spending seven weeks in the library had destroyed all my social skills. I had forgotten how to talk to people. I had lost my confidence. I had become quite and boring. Or at least, that's how I felt.I walked home and ranted to my housemate. At least he seemed to find my tale amusing. That night I decided this had to stop. I would never let that happen again. I showered (getting closer to resembling the "after photo" of the hair product ad again) and got an early night to restore my forces ready for the next day.

The next evening I challenged myself - I had to prove to myself that I hadn't lost social skills, that I could still have fun like normal students should! I got an invite to birthday cocktails, I only knew two people there, but I wouldn't let that stop me. Not this time. I made sure I was ready for it this time, none of this frizzy-hair,-bags-under-eyes-letting-yourself-go business. That night I had one of the funnest nights of term. It was girl night. I met a whole new circle of girls. We danced, we laughed, we made friends and I felt human again, I felt alive, I felt good.

I guess sometimes we just need to hit a low to be able to finally bounce back again.

6th week: the essay crisis.

Sixth week is a funny one. It feels like your so close to the end that your body already wants to stop. You just want to go home and relax but you can't. You're painfully close to the end but not quite there yet. You have to keep going. In fact, there are still actually 3 weeks left, that's basically a month! In this state of wanting it all to be over, of wanting to be able to watch mindless TV for twenty minutes without feeling guilty about it, I had my first essay crisis of term. 

How do these things creep up on you just when you're feeling so in control? This time it was actually caused by too much preparation rather than too little. I had been sitting in the library for a few hours in between classes every day since it had been set, typing up ideas, reading critics etc. until I suddenly found myself, the day before the deadline, with 8 pages of notes, in a completely random order and often repeating themselves, feeling even more confused than ever. Now I don't mind writing new ideas down so much, when they're fresh in your mind, but re-organising what you have already written, looking back at those moments when you reached a new depth on knowledge, having lost it again, really makes your brain twitch (no - I didn't know brains could twitch either, but apparently they can.)  Aside from that, it also actually takes a lot more time than you might think. I sat on my computer in the library for 4 hours after dinner and decided to go home to get a fresher perspective. Much to my surprise, it actually really helped. 

On the bike ride home, as I cycled further and further away, I remembered that the world still continues to exist outside of college and actually, this essay that I was getting so worked up about was pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things. As a result of this enlightening journey,(yes I know- you can tell I have just been writing a Dante essay - its difficult to turn off from essay mode!) by the time I got home, I looked back at my essay with a fresh perspective and rather than worrying about it so much, I just did it (yes Nike.) It got to 1am and I still hadn't finished but it wasn't due till 3pm the next day -although I had lectures in the morning - one of which was given by the tutor said essay was for- so I just woke up early the next morning and kept working on it. 

This is how days really roll into each other when you're essay writing. You forget about normal life routines, your room turns into a total tip, you don't even think about exercising and you eat whatever is closest to hand if you get hungry, even if it is not exactly 'nutritious.'  I finished my essay at 4pm on the dot, and sent it off, then jumped on my bike and cycled like crazy to get to an essay class which unfortunately started at 4pm on the dot too. I sat in the classroom, my mind still bursting with all these ideas from the essay and slowly adapted to being back in the real world. The lack of sleep and shock at how I had somehow managed to pull it off, send off the essay and get to my class on time gave me a crazy adrenaline rush and my heart was beating so fast I actually got a bit freaked out. You don't even realise how much your work has affected you, until it's over and your body finally allows itself to relax. At the same time though, I felt incredibly free and satisfied. I suppose what I felt was a sense of achievement, I had truly put my best into it - that's a pretty nice feeling. 

I had forgotten what that post-essay-crisis feeling was like. You feel kind of elated, almost hysterically happy, self-satisified, free. You feel a strange desire to do something wild, get drunk or run through a field, dance, sing, find some outlet for the tension that has built up inside of you up until that final moment when you click the send/print button. Of course this is fairly short-lived and unlike 1st and 2nd year when I would always have some social event to rush off to straight after finishing an essay as nice reward, as a 4th year, once the adrenaline had slowly drained away I was left feeling exhausted, although still equally satisfied, and rather than treasuring the moment of freedom and living in the moment, I thought about what was still left to do and how I needed to use this time for 're-fortification' in preparation for the next attack with the next deadline. So rather than going wild, I opted for a 'crazy' night in, in true 4th year style.

When I got home later I walked into the house with my books strewn across the table, my bed covered in a chaotic mess of clothes and things dotted all over the floor. I scrubbed the blue ink from my hand to make myself feel human again, tidied my room, took time to cook a wholesome meal and enjoyed my cosy night in, so that I would be ready to face it all again the next day. You think it's all over, it never really is. Final year is truly relentless.

5th week blues?

For the first time since I have been here, this week (5th week) I got that really warm, comforting feeling of being on top of it all. And this came on Doomsday Tuesday of 5th week of all days! (Fifth week is renowned for being the week when everything crumbles for a lot of students, we are just over half way, so close, yet so far. People tend to get sick/ break down -this student 'epidemic' is referred to as "5th week blues")

I woke up at 7am, packed my bag carefully making sure I didn't forget anything, went to my oral class and was the first to arrive. Felt incredibly awake in the class and did a lot of talking. I cycled to a Leopardi lecture straight afterwards, felt like I finally understood some things I had never understood in second year about him, scribbled my notes so fast and so fiercely that when I came out I looked like I was turning into an avatar with the side of my palm completely stained with blue ink. Cycled to another lecture which was equally insightful, cycled to lunch, but limited it to half an hour (that's over-the-top self-control for me- since for the 11 months I was in France lunches always lasted at least an hour!) went to the library in my 45 minute gap (when I would normally go to the coffee shop to clear my head) to revise French vocab and grammar, before rushing to a French prose class, where I had a very nasty translation of Treasure Island to do in exam conditions. Normally this would have totally changed my mood but I was in such a composed state not even that could knock me out of it! I went back to the library and -for the first time this term- sat down with Dante and had a real heart to heart with him, finally giving him the attention he had been seeking all this time. Then, suddenly realizing that this was the first time me and Dante had been so close, had a bit of a freak out at the fact that we have only just managed to click now, in 5th week, after 5 weeks of studying him. But really, after a year abroad, I suppose it's normal that it's taken me this long to really settle back into things. That wasn't even the end of it though, after two hours in the library I rushed off to my Dante seminar - just in case I hadn't had enough of him for that day, to prove my absolute devotion.

At the end of it all, I went to STACs (the St. Anne's coffee shop) and finally had that hot drink I had missed out on earlier- but I actually savored it so much more than usual precisely because I had really worked for it. I went home feeling really pleased with myself. I know not all days can be like this, but even just a few days like this are what you need to feel really in control. Let's hope I can keep up this composure for the next 3 weeks at least!

4th week Graduation (not mine).

So, I'm going to be honest, I'm writing this blog post in hindsight; I failed to keep up with my weekly blog post challenge, but there is a good reason for that- as you will see- and at least I'm making up for it now with this back-tracking.

Basically, 4th week marked a kind of turning point in Michaelmas term for me. This week was quite an inspirational one and it reached it's pinnacle at the weekend when all of my old uni friends came back for their graduation ceremony. Graduation is always a special day: All the graduates turned up with their families, with big smiles on their faces, looking smart in their gowns and mortar boards. It was all very Harry-Potter-esque and you could almost hear the end of film music in the background as you watched them all flock into college. I was so happy to see all of my old gang of friends back together again, and the friendly faces I used to love seeing around college so much. It was like going back in time and remember what the college atmosphere used to feel like. Nostalgia for them, but nostalgia for me too, which was weird because obviously I'm still here. 

In the midst of all of this, I had lots of work to do, and the longer I stood waiting for them all to arrive, chatting to them all, sharing the special day with them, the more guilty I felt about not being in the place I knew I should be - the library. I watched them all come out of the Sheldonian theatre, took lots of pictures and it all just felt so surreal. You could just sense the aura of pride and satisfaction floating around all of them. They had all been down to the depths of exam stress and had managed to emerge from it all, standing tall looking glorious after a summer of celebration (and life-planning.) I admired them all and so it was a great motivation, it made me want to work hard, push myself to my limits, because I realised that the more I do now, the better this feeling at the end of it all will be. They had come through it all together, and there was such a strong feeling of team spirit, they were like a surviving troops returning from battle. What they had been through together meant that they will probably all be friends for a long long time, and meant that now they could celebrate it all together too. 

After this, I just felt like getting totally serious about all of my work. I went back to the library and my concentration was the highest it had been all term. I did one essay after another, and somehow seemed to understand it all better than I had before. I stopped over-thinking it all and just got on with it. They reminded me of what I'm working towards, where I'm heading. That's why I didn't write a blog post this week, I focused completely on work and didn't allow any distractions. It was also pretty emotional to see them all, and have to say goodbye again, but c'est la vie. I'm lucky to have such a good group of 4th years with me this year, we have really tied together and now we have the vision of graduation to keep us all going too. At least, I hope I make it that far... Here's trying!

3rd Week: Rediscovering the passion...

A funny thing just happened. Just as I was beginning to lose passion and drive, I came across something which gave me a motivational boost in the right direction. It's Monday night and tomorrow is Doomsday Tuesday so I should really go to bed, but I feel terrible about falling behind on this weekly blog posting business and just as I was getting ready for bed I remembered I had to look for a document on my old hard drive. When I opened it and started to look for the document I needed, I stumbled upon some old files I had created back in sixth form. Such a blast from the past, and actually a really nice one.

The first thing I found was list of things I had written down to do before I was 21 (I turned 21 in February so ran out of time for that one) but the list gave me such a flash back to the old me. The innocent, carefree, optimistic teenage-me that I had completely forgotten about. It cheered me up so much! I had managed to do a few of the things on the list in time, like going to a 'proper rock concert,' backpacking in Europe, and singing solo in front of an audience, but there were a lot of things on there I haven't done yet, like 'having a manicure' with one of my best friends, Helen (still a best friend now!) learning yoga, scuba diving and going paintballing amongst other things. As much as I could be really disappointed in myself for not having managed to do these things (and for forgetting all about this list), I actually feel kind of happy that I haven't done them all, because this has given me a new-found thirst for life - just what you need when you're feeling low! There are so many things I still want to do, and although right now all my time and energy is taken up on studying, after finals, although I might not have a job straight away or know what I want to do with my life, it will be so nice to be able to have the time to discover all the little perks there are to life, all the first experiences I haven't had yet! I feel like writing a new list of 'things to do before I'm 30' - this may have to be the first thing I do after finals, to celebrate the freedom.

The second thing I found was possibly better than the first in terms of helping to cheer me up tonight. It was the personal statement I wrote when I applied to Oxford. In it I explain why I was so keen to study languages. It's exactly what I needed. I needed to remember why I'm here. Why I love my subject. Why I should love every minute of this instead of complaining about it all the time. It's easy to lose perspective when you get stuck in the thick of it, and with a four year course it's only natural that at times your enthusiasm starts to waiver, especially so close to the end, but sometimes you just need a little reminder of why you chose to do what you're doing and of how much you wanted it and how excited you were to do it and, most importantly, how lucky you are to be able to do what you wanted to. That's right. Tomorrow is Doomsday Tuesday, but I'm going to enjoy every minute of it, appreciate all the insight I'm gaining in lectures, savour every correction of every mistake of my translation, and cherish every word of idiomatic french that comes out of my oral tutor's mouth; because it's what I wanted, because, even if it's hard, it's going to push me to be the person I so wanted to be back when I was still at school and because it's my passion. Like I said in my personal statement all those years ago: "Languages run through my blood. They are in my past and my present and I hope they will be in my future."  Well, I guess this the crucial time for me to try to make sure they are. On that note, I'm off to bed to make sure I can truly appreciate tomorrow!

2nd Week: Living in a superworld, with superhumans.

Second week is over and it's been a tough one. It's been a month since I first moved into my house here and since I last saw my family and homesickness showed it's ugly face for the first time half way through this week. It's odd the way it suddenly hits you. One minute you're cycling in the sunshine, thinking about the lecture you have to go to, the translations you have to remember to do, and then suddenly you hear your mum's voice offering you some good advice "you should have worn a coat sara" or "make sure you eat some fruit" (it's actually you're own voice now, but behind it lies the echoes of your mum's voice - there's no disguising it.) Anyway, you're cycling along and suddenly you think of your mum and sister sitting on the sofa at home, and your heart sinks a little bit and you get this feeling deep in the pit of your stomach. At first it's like a warm comforting feeling and you're quite happy to feel it. But, later it comes back, except this time it hits you when you're in a much more stressful situation. Or at least that's what happened to me. Homesickness mixed in with tiredness and a suddenly stressful situation can only lead to one thing: a midweek meltdown. 

Everything was going fine and then I went straight from one class to another, sat at the table, took out my paper and booklets, only to realize that everyone around me was looking at an article with notes they had scribbled all over it and they had sheets of paper with notes written all over them. It was that nightmare moment when you suddenly realize there is something you have forgotten to do. The lady taking the class was lovely, as she smiled and asked us all if we were ready do our practice oral tests and give her a presentation summarizing the articles she had given us last week. I literally didn't know what to say. There was no getting out of this situation. I just looked at her blankly and told her I had completely forgotten all about it. I felt terrible. I kept it together though and carried on with the class, trying my best to discuss the articles I hadn't read. Bad time management. Poor forward thinking. Not a good day. At the end of the class, as I got on my bike and cycled to lunch, the image of my mum and sister in the living room chatting away popped back into my head, but this time it didn't have quite the same effect. I wished I could beam myself home (like they do in star trek) and give them both a hug. Luckily, my friends were at college and they were there to cheer me up instead, after I burst into tears telling them what had just happened. (I have a very strong conscience and get upset about stuff like that.) I think maybe that gave me the kick I needed to start taking everything a bit more seriously. But I have been taking things seriously, it's just that the work is so relentless in final year. There are more classes and for every class there is work to prepare. In 2nd week everyone assumes you've settled in the rhythm of things, but actually you're still not quite on it yet.

On top of the fact that I was already feeling pretty inadequate, carrying a heavy weight on my shoulders (both literally and figuratively - I had to take my books, computer and gym stuff to college and back all week) I suddenly became aware that everyone else around me actually already seemed to be on top of it all. In fact, generally speaking, in Oxford everywhere you go, the people you meet are kind of "superpeople." So many of the people I have talked to this week have been so interesting, witty, smart, organised, pretty/handsome, ambitious, and aside from doing their course they're in various different clubs or societies and have hidden talents like, singing, acting, professional cycling, stand-up comedy or they write for the student newspaper. At home, in the small towns, you feel pretty special, pretty on it, pretty proud of yourself. But here, you realise your actually just a mere mortal, a pretty average joe. You might be talented in one specific area, but in a world of multi-talented people that just doesn't quite seem like it's enough. You go to dinner and you chat to someone only to discover that aside from studying an incredibly difficult subject like engineering or some kind of science, they are also fluent in at least 2 languages. Basically, they do what you do, plus more. 

At the same time, being surrounded by superhumans has many perks too. If you can swallow your pride and stop comparing yourself to them, crush the green giant in you and just admire them for their talents, then it can actually be a really enjoyable world to live in. In fact, after an extremely tough week, I decided to give myself a break on Saturday evening and I went to see a friend of mine who graduated last year do a stand up act in the Burton Taylor. There's nothing better than laughter to make everything better. Laughter that I mightn't have been exposed to, had I not had the privilege of meeting such a superhuman. After the stand-up, we went to a cute little traditional English pub near our college and went into a back room with a fireplace and a piano and a few third years, one of whom had invited everyone there to play some of her music to us. It was like meditation mixed with socializing. It was like going to an intimate and private gig. It was special. I was lucky enough to be able to enjoy her undiscovered talent. That's the beauty of university. Being exposed to superhumans who are all super in different, and sometimes surprising, ways. Aside from how pleasant it is to witness their superskills, it's also kind of inspiring. Inspirational enough to make me want to work that little bit harder. I'm sure I'll find a secret superskill one day, but for now I better just concentrate on the one I'm going to be examined on in a few months, and instead of comparing myself to all the other superhumans, I should recognise my own superskill and make the most of being inspired by the superhumans around me. I suppose what I'm trying to say is, we are all superhumans, but sometimes we need other superhumans around us to inspire us to embrace our superskills so that we can all become even more super. Now, isn't that super? Let's hope third week turns out to be a bit more super than second week anyway!

1st week: Slipping back into the bubble...

So I somehow survived first week, despite having somehow contracted freshers flu (I only went out once- the bop definitely did it!) It's been a long and hectic week, but to be honest I haven't really had anytime to even think about it. In fact, up until writing this blog I had pretty much forgotten about the world outside, as terribly egocentric as that may sound. I haven't watched the news for far too long and my conversations rarely revolve around anything other than work; essays, Italian poetry, translations, tutors, rowing or college life. I can feel it happening, I'm slowly sinking back into this old bubble I used to know so well. And although it's all happened pretty abruptly, it feels oddly normal. I haven't quite settled into a routine yet, but I can already tell that it won't be too long before I do. Aside from a few brief phone calls to the family, and of course the ritualistic weekend catch up viewings of the X factor and Downton Abbey with my housemates, I have completely lost sight of the world outside Oxford. There's just no time. It's only been one week and I have already wished for Bernard's watch about a zillion times. Why hasn't anyone invented it yet?!!

I'm already starting to feel a little bit like a robot. It's as though someone has just flicked a switch and my body has just gone into autopilot, cycling to lectures, going to the library, sitting down for hours reading and writing, eating, reading and writing some more, translating, going to class. I finish one piece of work, only to start another, with no time for rest or celebration in between. The worst thing in all of this is that just as they flicked this switch, my immune system also decided to switch off and I got sick. Sitting in a two hour seminar on Dante's Inferno and feeling like your throat is on fire is not a nice experience, I can tell you. I still found time to feel sorry for myself of course though and my housemates endured my constant moans very gracefully.

Fortunately, I somehow managed to get through it and by the time the weekend came around, I was well enough to truly savor that Friday feeling more than I had for a long time. The weekends are the best. Even though they aren't real weekends when you're at uni, it's still nice to know that even if you still have loads of work to do, you can do it on your own terms: where you want and when you want. Having 4 hours of constant lectures, classes and seminars on Tuesday (officially Domesday now) when my illness reached it's peak, really was nearly the death of me, and after that I absolutely appreciated the days when I had a little more freedom in choosing my working environment. Of course, after a week of acting like a machine, Friday was always going to be a wild one. It was so good to get dressed up and feel human again. Saturday suffered as a result though, so I couldn't revert back to being a human for too long. Today I transformed back into a robot again: I woke up and started writing an essay, then finally finished it and came back to the human world, only to realize it was dark and the day was done. At least my housemates keep me sane and I can live vicariously through the stories my friends at home tell me about their, far more interesting and exciting, lives. Being a robot isn't so bad though. It's a life free of emotional complications, that's for sure. 

Hopefully this week I might have a few more human encounters to write about in my next blog, to make it a little bit more exciting than this one. Don't say I didn't warn you anyway. 

0th Week: Discovering Fourth-year Minotaur Syndrome: half fresher, half finalist.

  0th week is officially over, and oh what a week it's been. There have already been so many highs and lows that I'm a little afraid to imagine what emotions the next 8 weeks will hold.

  The first half of the week was spent in a state of what can only be described as pure anxiety: worrying about what my timetable would look like this term, what my new tutors would be like, who would be in my new seminars and, of course, trying to get my head around my new status in college. You see as a fourth year finalist, not only do you feel incredibly old, but you also feel kind of lonely. I remember when I was a fresher seeing fourth years linguists around and treating them with a kind of timid respect, admiring them only from afar as they tottered to and from the library and never quite feeling that could even dare to approach them. They were almost supernatural beings to me. Now that I'm actually a fourth year myself though, I realize how ridiculous that was. 

  Being a fourth year linguist is just an extremely weird state of being. You come back from your abroad and most of your friends have gone. Not only do you not know this years freshers, but the second years (who now walk around like they know the show - and quite rightly so too) are also all strangers to you. You recognize the third years, but don't really know any of them all that well, bar a few that you met through various events in second year. So actually, you feel pretty out of the loop. And even though you might expect to feel like a year 11 student at high school, the reality is that you kind of feel like a first year, but with an odd twist given that you have already been in college for two years. Just as you had got used to everything being one way, you suddenly return to find it in completely another. The only analogy I can think of to best explain it, is that it's like walking into your family home, only to find new people living in it. You feel a bit like an outsider looking in. Except you're not an outsider, in fact you're still very much IN it. Only your role has changed. Instead of being the wild teenage youngest child, you're now the no-nonsense eldest-sister with end-of-school exams to focus on. 

 All of this means that, although you know you should focus on work, you can't help but feel the necessity to meet all of the new people in the college. Essentially, you're no different to the freshers; like them, you too have to go through all of the introductory small talk, and meet as many people as possible, as quickly as possible, so that hopefully, eventually, you will be able to walk through college and actually feel part of it again. Of course, you don't really have to do this. You could just screw it and decide you don't care about meeting anybody and just go to the library do your work, go home, chat to your three house mates and repeat this routine every day for the next 8 weeks and then again in Hilary and again in Trinity term, until finally you sit your exams and then have to learn how to interact with unknown human beings again after that. But me being me, I know I couldn't do that. In fact, I'm pretty sure that my work would actually probably suffer if I did. Already, after just one week of revising for collections every day I was starting to get restless. It's just not sustainable. I think it's super important to try and keep a balance. Just because we're fourth years doesn't mean we need to become hermits and close ourselves in the cupboard with books for the next 8 months. We could do that for the last 3 months maybe, but if we started now we would never be able to keep it up. As a result, we are forced to adapt and transform into what I can only define as kind of fourth year Minotaur; with the social demands of a fresher and yet the focus and maturity of a finalist (hence, the name of this post) - this isn't an easy balance to find.

  As if all of that wasn't complicated enough to get your head around, they've only gone and changed the whole layout of the modern language library too. It's now like an impenetrable labyrinth. You come in at a different entrance, which brings you onto a different floor to the one it used to. The books are still in the same places, but you feel like the structure of the building has changed, finding yourself somehow ending up in the same section you used to go to in second year, but having no idea how the route you took got you there. And the college has changed too. They've changed the structure of the dining room and it too has different entrances/ exits, new doors in different places and the kitchen is now on the opposite side to where it used to be. Absolute mind games. Feel like I'm in an episode of "Sliders" and have just slid back into a parallel universe where everything is almost exactly the same, but with crazy changes here and there and all I want to do is slide back home to the world I used to know. 

  I powered on in my disorientated state of mind, from Monday to Wednesday and started doing some cram revision for collections (Oxford college tests at the start of every term, they don't count but it's never nice to start the term with a fail.) Luckily, the college library was still exactly the same and I felt surprisingly comfortable and at peace there, almost too comfortable I think. Then, on Thursday, I had the dreaded meetings with tutors, which turned out to not be so bad. My timetable is looking scary, particularly Tuesdays, which I'm probably going to end up referring to as 'dooms day,' 'death day' or something to that affect. My new Italian tutors seem pretty quirky and are clearly totally passionate about Dante (the author whose work they will be teaching me about), which is always good.

  On Friday the anxiety hit it's climax as we sat our afternoon collection in French translations- which involved translating "popemobile" "cape and cussock" amongst other random vocabulary. Great. At least I guessed the word for Pope right. Or at least, I hope I did.

Then of course, to celebrate the end of collections and to try to find that balance I was talking about, on Saturday we all decided to be a little carefree and act like freshers for the night. So we improvised a bit of fancy dress and went to the college 'childhood dreams' -themed bop. I talked to one fresher, two second years (pretty much freshers to me), and a few third and fourth years (from what I can remember anyway!) and generally had a really fun night dancing like there's no tomorrow and forgetting about all that other stuff for just a few blissful hours. It was definitely needed. And, despite feeling a little hung over, I'm so glad I did it. I feel like it gave me the boost I needed to help me jump onto the next emotional roller-coaster ride to come: 1st week - when the real work begins.

-0th week - Bring it on.

It's a Saturday night. This is not just any Saturday night though. No. This is the Saturday before the Sunday that marks the start of 0th week of Michaelmas of final year. In my head I still feel like a fresher. I'm still just as unprepared and oblivious to what is to come. Or at least I'm fooling myself into thinking I am. The truth is that this time it's completely different. This time, I know. I know the horrors that await me; the all-nighters, the panics searching for rooms minutes before tutorials, the terrifying moments when your tutor asks you a question and your bind blanks, the hours of reading and re-reading, thinking and over-thinking, feeling the penny-drop and then sensing it slip away just as quickly. But before all that, I still have to overcome collections. I can imagine it already. My french tutor Genevieve's face as we enter the first class and she purses her lips together, rolls her eyes, lets out a long sigh and says, "Well I thought after the year abroad you would all have shown miraculous improvement, but it seems I was mistaken." I can already pre-empt the regret I'll feel at having wasted these precious few weeks before term begins, enjoying my freedom instead of preparing properly to make the next 8 weeks a little more bearable. It's only natural.

On the bright side, my new university house is just as I want it. I have made sure my home environment will be warm and comforting to help me through it all. I have a bike and lights and a basket. I bought a bookcase, carried it home and put it together myself (OK that's a lie - what actually happened is that I TRIED to fix it together myself, but in the end I was forced to leave the construction to my lovely handyman of a housemate, and he did it beautifully.) We now have a microwave, a toaster, a washing up bowl and drainer. The hot water works and the internet is soon to be installed. The bill-paying has been organised and I have tried to manage my finances as well as I can. All of this takes time, so much time. Simple pleasures are not so simple it seems. It's taken me two weeks to get all of this in order. Imagine if I had turned up just a few days before term began and had to deal with all that, on top of everything else. That's how I know I'm a finalist and not a fresher. I might think I'm unprepared but in fact, I'm not; I realise that last minute reading isn't going to help me now. What's more important is that I make sure that everything else in my life is in order so that when the work begins properly I can focus fully and completely on that. No distractions. Obviously I have been doing a little light reading to calm my conscience, but sorting all of these other small yet time-consuming details has kept me preoccupied for the past few weeks and now all I have left to do is reflect on what's to come. I can't deny that it's dragging on a little now and I'm tired of being worried and anxious.

Final year, I promise to give you all my focus and attention. You might scare the hell out of me, make me sick, wear me down and give me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, but you know what, I'm ready for you. Bring it.

The vocational crisis.

It's the summer holidays. I'm in Sicily. So why can I not sleep? Well, it's not just any old summer holiday, it's the summer holiday before finals. Which means it could potentially be the last summer of it's kind. Who knows if next summer I will have already entered into the world of work, I may not even have a summer holiday. It's definitely unlikely that I will ever have a summer holiday as long as the ones that I have been used to all my life. I didn't realize how lucky I was until now. Being a grown up is going to suck. Maybe I won't find a job though. Except then I'll have lots of time but no money, and that's probably worse. Hmm. I think I've figured out why I can't sleep anyway; Since I arrived in Palermo, everybody I have met has asked me the same questions: what are you doing now then? And what will you do after you graduate? Such a stomach churning question for someone who has no clue. I need to find a solution but every time I do, I change my mind a few minutes later. Maybe that's the beauty of life though; not knowing where you will end up or what you will do. It's surprisingly exciting.
I remember when I was little girl, being sat in church listening to a priest talking about vocations. He told the story of how he finally heard his "calling" one day. He went to mass one day and suddenly had this feeling of duty and love and that was it. He knew the only person he could marry was God. I remember wondering when I would find my calling and where? In a dream? From an old lady? From a little boy/girl? An angel? Or would I wake up one morning and just know? From then on, I carried on with my life, just kind of following the social norms, plodding along, hoping one day it would all suddenly become clear; The meaning of my life.
   I chose my GCSEs, then I chose my A levels. As time went by, my options kept becoming narrower and narrower, and then one day I found myself packing the car and going of to university. I still believed that by graduation I would know what I was going to go on to do. I took a kind of que sara' sara' outlook on life.
  Except now I'm in final year, and I'm starting to feel a little bit anxious. Nothing is any clearer. I haven't got a clue, not the slightest idea. It's starting to bother me more than ever. I feel like I should have had this calling by now. Most of my friends have, in fact, when they chose their degrees they had already pretty much figured it out. But I have a languages degree; that could be used for so many different things. That's one of the reasons I chose it in fact. It was the only course that accommodated my indecision as to what I wanted to do after university. Now all the social conventions of what people do in life can't help me anymore. There's no clear structure for me anymore. After university it's just "work" or "Masters/PhD" but work is such a HUGE umbrella-word. Finally I'm free and no-one is telling me what to do anymore, but am I happy? No. I've followed the rules all my life. Now there is no one telling me what to do now and so I'm lost without instructions. I need to step up to the plate and decide for myself. There is no other option.
   Funnily enough, I went back to my hometown and discovered the very priest that gave that sermon on vocations is actually no longer a priest. He fell in love with a woman in the parish and left the Church. So now I'm screwed. I spent all these years believing this "call" would come, only to discover it was a false alarm anyway! He might have heard his calling, but he heard a different one later. Maybe I should find comfort in this though. Maybe we have more than one calling. That would mean that even if I have missed mine, or the first one is delayed, I'll be ok. I'll fall into something for a while and then one day I'll have another calling and change the direction of my life altogether. Maybe that's what makes life exciting. Nothing is set in stone. Humans are designed to be adaptable, we can change career paths all the time.
   Right now, I'm beginning to wonder if writing might be my calling. I mean its 3.48am and I can't sleep and  felt this sudden need to write down everything I was thinking/feeling. Maybe it's what I'm destined to do? Or maybe I just need therapy. In any case, I feel better for doing it. On that note, I'm going to try to sleep now. If my 'call' comes tomorrow, I need to be awake and ready.

Beating my blog-writing phobia...

Most people write blogs when they do exciting things, like travelling, going on a gap year or starting a new venture in life; job, marriage, kids. I just finished my year abroad, and as much as I would have loved to have a blog to look back on, detailing every exciting experience and observation I encountered during my year in Paris, the truth is that I was far too busy having fun to actually keep a daily/weekly/monthly blog. I had good intentions (I set up the blog page,) but the stories I had to tell just kept accumulating and the longer I left it, the less justice I felt I could give the experience. I could never express the emotions/ excitement/ fear/ frustration/ homesickness etc. I had felt. The more time passed, the more my memory faded too. Luckily I kept a very lazy diary in which I documented the highlights of the year with all the personal nitty-gritty, girly-gossip-style stories included. So, when I'm old and wrinkly I can flick through those pages to remember what I used to be like when I was young, free and foolish.
You see, that was always my problem with blog writing; a kind of insecure, self-conscious perfectionism and indecision in selecting my target audience. A blog written for friends and family has a very different tone/content to a blog written for the general public. And so, in fear of never writing a blog at all, I have decided to ignore all of these details, stop thinking about who will read what I have written and just get down to business and write the blooming thing.
So, without further ado, here it is: my blog, for whoever wants to read it. At times it may be personal and others perhaps even useful, given that I'm about to start my finals it will most-likely often be used as an outlet for stress, there may be strong language and there will most-definitely be long-windedness/tangents, so please do bear with me and my train of thought. I hope you enjoy it, although I wouldn't get too hopeful... given my blogging history it's possible I will give up after a week. Anyway- here goes...