There are so many virtual cobwebs on this corner of the internet and it’s gotten to a point where there’s no use apologising. I hold my hands up and admit to being an awful blogger. For the most part I just want to settle down at my keyboard and write out these long posts about personal things like feelings and events and sentimental stuff like that, and I’m sure that’s not what gains followers and a hefty readership. I’ve long since learned that this blog is not going to be a success in that respect, but that’s fine. I like the fact that ‘Most Ardently Alice’ is, more than anything, an organised space for my chaotic thoughts.
So that’s what this post is going to be too, because guess what? I’m now two thirds of the way done with my degree and I am absolutely petrified. I wrote a similar post this time last year reflecting on first year and just how insane it was that I was old enough to be at university; how surprising it was that I’d even made it in the first place. And yes, I’m still of the belief that time as a concept is absolutely beyond me with the way it can pass so slowly, but then — at times — so irrevocably fast.
As my second year draws to a close, my final assignment handed in just two days ago, all I can think about is what comes next, though. I’m not so much considering all that I’ve done since the last time we discussed my limited time at university, but what is in store for me after the word that has all students quivering — dissertation. How will I do as a real, fully-fledged adult? Not just adult, but graduate. I very nearly had a meltdown at the mere mention of graduation in a lecture with my course leader a few weeks back, and, whilst my reaction was all very amusing, the terrified feeling remains.
It’s scary. There’s no sugar coating the future when education has finally gotten its talons out of you.
And the worst part is that my second year at university has been amazing. I enjoyed first year. Once I found my stride, I liked it. I made some wonderful friends who are still around now — formed some great memories with them too. But this year has just been incredible without even being much more than first year was. I guess I’ve just fallen more in love with the people I’ve surrounded myself with, found comfort in being able to navigate a giant city I’m still not even fully acquainted with and formed even more lifelong bonds. And I don’t want to sound like a gigantic cheeseball, but I think I’ve gotten to know myself a little bit more too over the course of these past eight months. Not just gotten to know, but learned to respect and that’s something that has been waiting in the wings for a long, long time.
There were times in first year when I thought I’d made the complete wrong decision. That university,— or at least my degree — wasn’t right for me. Now I’m sitting here wishing I had myself a genie in a lamp so I could make one of my three wishes to start over and make my stay here just a little bit longer. I’d do most things the same, but maybe sprinkle more confidence in along the way. This year I’ve realised just how much giving myself a small internal nudge can mean and I’m all the better for it.
I’m not even sure what I’m saying anymore; what am I trying to convey in this blog post, exactly?
I am happy. So, so happy. And the next three hundred and sixty-five days are going to be the most appreciated and sacred days of my life. Because yesterday I came upstairs to bed after a late night snack turned into over an hour of congregating and chatting in the kitchen with my housemates, Lauren and Sophie, and it dawned on me that these moments won’t be forever and that those moments are some of the best; maybe even the most important ones of all.
So, second year, you’ve been an absolute babe. Thank you. Last year I wrote that maybe in two years you’d be reading my post about graduation; see me suited and booted in cap and gown. For the record, that’s one year and counting now, kids!