Being the First to Go to University

As an only child I’ve become somewhat of the guinea pig for my family in terms of education. Luckily I didn’t pick up many of the traits stereotyped to only children, so I’m not a bratty, selfish and bossy guinea pig – but a guinea pig none the less.

My parents didn’t have the same opportunities as I, and many young people do nowadays meaning that I’m doing a lot of ‘firsts’. The first to finish school, the first to go to university and beyond (I hope).

I didn’t have a lot of friends as a child and certainly had no one that had been years above me in school to give me advice. I was left to ponder what was ahead of me by listening to the vague experiences my parents recalled and watching TV (I wasn’t savvy with in the internet back then). School and the education system was pretty different back then too, so stories of the cane and teachers who threw board rubbers at you had plagued my nervous mind.

My first mistake came on the first day of school when I packed my school bag according to some questionable list I had found. This included a towel, soap and other things necessary for showering after PE. Of course the prospect of showering in front of strangers in a place I knew nothing about frightened the life out of me, but being the organised little person I was I diligently packed my toiletries.

I turned up with my bright red, overstuffed backpack that was far too big for my frame and was just well, awkward. I paired this these horrid black flared trousers and ‘sensible’ shoes (the typical year 7) only to be confronted girls with tiny handbags, even tinier skirts and the most foundation I’ve ever seen trowelled onto a face. Great. So there were orange stick insects walking about, but were we forced to shower together? Of course not! I looked stupid for even thinking it.

Years on and I’m pleased to say that my fashion choices have matured, as have my researching skills. What hasn’t changed is my apprehension about the unknown. The towel, soap and communal showers of my childhood are the scary assignments, drug dealers and lecture halls of my present. When applying for university I had all these preconceptions about what the experience might hold. Drugs, halls and late nights crying into books were all on the cards, I’d have to live with a bunch of strangers who and would be homesick all the time.

However, this wasn’t true for me. I live at home while I study, am sober and yes OK I occasionally cry into the odd book. But I couldn’t have been more wrong about the actual work. I had the feeling that somehow everyone else already would know more than me and that I didn’t belong, even though we had all gone through the same application process. I just didn’t have anyone to reassure me that university was something meant for me.

What I’ve learnt is that university is for me, and I’m not bad at this whole ‘student’ business. There is always support and help – all you need do is ask. I had this expectation that I would have three hour lectures taught by a haughty, detached elderly man and would be left on my own to do the rest. How wrong I was. My lecturers are engaged and are always willing to help me if I need it, the work is manageable and I even have actual fun. Can you believe that?

Going to university has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made and I’m safe in the knowledge that my parents are proud that I am seizing an opportunity that wasn’t available to them.