the beginning of the end

Thoughts on third year. 

Who can believe it, eh? How quickly this has all disappeared.

Six months ago, I got on the train home, in state of quasi-evacuation, and then the weeks and months passed, and now we are here, in mid-September. I've even got a back to school playlist to mark the occasion. 

I feel distinctly mixed about it all. I can't contain my excitement at being back in my libraries and immersed in it all; at living with my best friends, working in cafes, running in the parks, just being away from home. Michaelmas' paper is sick, Autumn in Oxford is beautiful and my yellow bike is going to look iconic zipping around the streets. I cannot wait.

But I almost can't accept it's going to happen. Maybe it won't, who knows in this post-certainty world. But regardless, the prospect of it is idyllic.

And then, there's the apprehension. The hoped idyll that simply won't be fulfilled, because corona and necessary rules mean what feel like the best parts can't happen. Can't go to formals, can't have balls, can't even have face-to-face tutorials. Oh, and I can't cook for myself. Too often I think 'what's the point', and toy at the threads of rustication, suspension, a year out. I just can't shake this profound nostalgia of what was, and I know it won't be like that anymore. And it's like March's grief all over again. So that hurts, in a privileged sort of way.

And then, of course, there's the inevitable anxiety. Anxiety at exams and pressure. And at the end. That cruel creature that caused so much pain in 2017. But it sort of doesn't hurt as much this time. It feels as though there is a little more hope and prospect and opportunity once this is done, and maybe even some excitement (Berlin, please?!). But I also struggle to process that it will end. At the speed with which these three beautiful years have melted and slipped and are suddenly almost concluding. And then who am I? What does my identity consist of? Do I have to get a job? Can I not just read books forever?

And I just can't imagine my world not consisting of these people of whom I am in awe, who are so ridiculously intelligent and caring and driven it is hard to believe they are really real. I want them to be my world forever and to just stop time so I can drink up the hours with them. Really, I'd like to hold on to this eternally, and never let go.

So, for third year, I am feeling both hope and dread. So sad and so hopeful at the same time.

I know it will be hard and too many early mornings and late nights will be spent in the library (I've already had the necessary pre-warning) and in so many ways it will be different, and some of that I won't know until it happens. I refuse to let myself be consumed by the grief I did last time, and instead want to try so, so hard to breathe it in. Enjoy my window looking onto the quad, and the sandstone streets, and the coffees, and the cold mornings, and the laughs and the pubs, and even the hungover working. 

And I'll fuckin' stop with the photobooth pics when I really should be reading. 

Good vibes for back to school, y'all (and hoping beyond hope that a second lockdown isn't on its way!) <3

(pics are from insta: here, here and here)