I’m currently still recovering from last Friday, a day of food, clapping, wine, gin, wine, gin and more wine – or graduation as it’s commonly known!
It was an odd experience and I sort of felt like we were all taking part in some extravagant charade, pretending that our degrees are pivotal pieces of paper set to change our lives. To most of us, that doesn’t seem the case, and although a lot of us are employed (which the Uni will be chuffed about as it ups their statistics) it’s not really in our chosen field, or full time, or even paid.
Still, the enormous event that was graduation actually made me see my degree in a whole new light. I felt more proud than I had at the degree show or even on results day as it made it official, and a man stood up on stage and simply told us that we were great.
Praise is a rarity whilst studying, so it was a very welcome surprise – one which I’m pretty sure gave us all a warm fuzzy feeling.
I’m really proud and impressed with us all for coping even when we were completely freaking out, and felt like dropping out might be the kind and easy option we needed (I’ve no doubt we all considered it at least once), and for sticking together and supporting each other when things got tough. University was a long and insanely stressful stretch, but we had some serious fun and I love my housemates of one, two and three years like sisters: my lovely, mental sisters from other misters.
Shout outs to my Fine Art basement buddies, I miss wine Thursdays and awkward gay bars; my textiles ladies who could always be found knitting in front of the tele, red wine and/or takeaway in hand; and our little lady whose still at Uni and happily puts us all up in her house when we turn up in Birmingham in need of non-fine wines and perfume-gin, and who lets us old ladies pretend we’re students again.
It’s her fault my face has a yellow liver-disease-like tinge to it STILL.
I miss uni, but my God I could not do it again.