By Yagmur Ozmen
The first year of university was a breeze for me. Everyone kept telling me, “The first year doesn’t matter” and “Come on, it’s student night”, so understandably, I spent a lot of that year downing Jägerbombs and skipping the 9am lectures. I took the second year more seriously, even though the placatory statements continued, “It’s your third year that really counts.”
So I also spent this year chugging beer and chasing it with more Jägerbombs.
But this is it. My second year is over which means I am officially one year away from graduating. The end is almost here and I only have around three months to binge watch as much of the true crime documentaries I can. (Actually, who am I kidding – I will probably still be procrastinating next academic year).
People were talking about dissertations before the second year even officially concluded and all I could think about was, “What the hell is a dissertation?” and “Is it too late to drop out?”
Yes. It is too late to drop out.
Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about being in the third year soon, because I have absolutely no idea what it is I am doing. On top of my uncertainty about dissertations and whether I will get a good grade at the end of next year, I have to remind myself that my mother is not aware of the extent of my laziness.
When I told my mother I want to come back home to Romania for a while after university, she urged me to stay in the UK and try to find a job that relates to my degree. I told her it’s very rare for people to find a job straight out of university, but I am still banned from coming home.
I study Journalism & Creative Writing, and throughout the entire course, lecturers would constantly tell us that print journalism is in decline and a lot of newspapers, even magazines are going bankrupt (I might be the only one still willing to pay £5 for an Empire Magazine). That is actually one of the first things I remember learning during my first week at university. Truth be told, I should have known then that it was maybe going to be even harder for me to find a job; but I didn’t think it was time for me to dwell on that fact just yet.
But now I’ve come too far and all I can think about is not disappointing my parents after everything they’ve sacrificed for me. I’ll be happy if I get a job fetching coffee for employees who write articles for a somewhat well-known magazine once the university has come to an end. At least then I can still tell my parents I work for a magazine, and it won’t be a total lie.
Plus, coffee is crucial to the workplace environment.
For now, I’ll leave you with this: if you’re also terrified of your final year, don’t worry. There are a lot of us out there. And if next year isn’t your last and you see people crying at the library, just remember that we are all third years and don’t judge us – you will be in our shoes soon enough.