here is a lot to be said for blind positivity. On a good day, I’m a manifester, a big believer in my ability to speak things into existence. During my English A-Level, I had complete confidence that the crystals hidden in my bra would provide enough luck to snag me an A*. Today, I put great faith in words, relying on the same ‘I can do it’ that gets Olympic athletes across the finish line, to help me through difficult situations.
I’m now in my fourth year, and as such, must grapple with the reality of my Oxford days drawing to a close. Granted, this is something that every student must contend with, and I watched on as most of my friends bade a fond farewell to this city where our friendships began when they graduated last summer. Yet there is something about the fourth year that I’m certain makes the final year even more strange: a sense of something already lost, of living in a moment that has already passed.
Now, having exhausted myself with these relentless pursuits, the job has been passed on to a new bright-eyed Cupid, and in my retirement I’ve become fondly reflective, and decided to curate my insights into this list:
Better late than never, right? It’s the sentiment which lies at the heart of every tutorial essay, every near-sprint to a looming lecture or class (maybe even this article). Oxford time is a tin of treacle which seems to weigh down every step taken or word written, until you’re gasping for breath at the knife-edge of the essay deadline. It's the 5th week of term and you don’t want to run out of steam, but there isn’t much left in the tank.
Since I arrived at Oxford, alcohol has been woven into the fabric of my university experience. Drinking isn’t just expected – it’s encouraged, celebrated, and deeply embedded in student culture. Nights out, pub trips, drinking societies, formals: Oxford demands drinking, and I’ve obliged, over and over again.
The University of Oxford, with its ancient colleges and lofty spires, has a reputation of intellectual prestige on the one hand and eccentricity on the other. Across the river Cherwell, its newer neighbour is a modern, dynamic, and sprightly alternative full of industrious opportunities. Yet, it is inevitably still a place where “I go to Oxford,” if left unspecified, tends to be followed by ‘no, not that one’.
Matcha, rich in antioxidants and caffeinated, is my go-to when I don’t want anything espresso. Yet not every store in Oxford sells it – I have been a victim of many bad matcha lattes over the years. Here’s a ranking of the matcha lattes I’ve had in Oxford.
So the Oxford workload, rather than triggering a stress response, has instead desensitised me to the fear of academic failure. Exposure therapy, I suppose. It’s very freeing.