deja vu
I have to admit that I'm feeling a bit pre-postgraduate jittery. This is not because I haven't been through the rigamaroll once already - having completed my undergraduate programme - but due to the fact that I will be in a new city, at a new university, in a new degree programme, without anyone I know beside me.Oxford University is a traditional place, much more so than the university I attended in London. It is steeped in its own culture - right down to its matriculation ceremonies and formal dress (sub fusc, gown, cap, black skirt, black tights, white blouse, black tie) when sitting examinations. (For those who don't know, the matriculation ceremony is one in which you are officially deemed an Oxford student, and you cannot graduate from the university without having been matriculated.) Its famous one-on-one tutoring system, in most programmes of study, replaces lectures being given to hundreds of students at at time. Needless to say - and obviously for more reasons than I have recounted here - it isn't known as a world class university for no reason, although this doesn't mean that it isn't intimidating either.
Recently I have received a barrage of correspondence from my college. Oxford consists of roughly 40 or so colleges which are responsible for everything except the academic side of matters - accommodation, finance, food etc (the department is responsible for academics, and this two-tiered college-department system is particular to Britain's two most famous universities, Cambridge being the other). The '0th week' of term consists of a mind boggling array of induction programmes - where to register for this, where to check in for that, who to make appointments with etc etc. In the midst of all of this are open top bus tours of the city, informal cheese-and-wine sessions with academic tutors, common room parties, and - eep - meals in the dining hall.
My mum has always lovingly recounted a story of when she dropped me off at school for the very first time - when I, unlike the other children, marched forth into the wild unknown that is pre-school, without a bit of trepidation and with much enthusiasm, never looking back with frightened eyes. Maybe I've changed - or maybe I've realised that I can't possibly get along with everybody in this world - but the thought of little things like walking into lectures for the first time, or eating a meal in halls alone (God forbid) scares me shitless. You'd think that I'm used to this sort of thing by now, but a small part of me is still tempted to recoil a bit into my shell. I can't help but think, God I hope I don't look like a total muppet. I hope no-one thinks I look silly. I hope I don't drop my meal tray. You'd think the only thing I ought to be worried about at this point is whether I know how to calculate the variance of a prediction error in a local linear trend model using the Kalman filter. But alas. If only prediction errors could trouble me nowadays.
I remember my first day at university - walking into the room, in which low murmurs of conversation could be heard - the very first of the 'what's your name/where are you from/what programme are you studying' that would fill up most conversations that week ('Hello, lovely to meet you. Andrea. Toronto. Statistics'). I wasn't the only one who avoided direct eye contact - everyone was awkwardly shuffling through their notebooks, gazes directed downward. I remember feeling the same way that I do now, and thinking, 'Which of these people am I going to be close friends with?' I don't think I'm alone in experiencing this. No-one turned out to be as frightening and inaccessible as they might have appeared on the first day of university, and at the end of it all, I walked away with a close group of friends (and boyfriend) who are some of the most intelligent, not to mention fun and attractive, people I have ever met.
But oh my, the thought of doing it all over again - I've got to admit that even now, it still makes me feel somewhat dizzy.
L'Esthete @ 19:16
