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.
Education folklore has it that for many years, students at MIT have scrawled the acronym ‘IHTFP’ (I hate this fucking place) around campus in an attempt to express disdain for their university. After two years at Oxford, I can now report that students here often experience similar feelings.
At every late library session or rainy walk back to college, I think back to my days in fluorescent-lit, outdated offices. I think of riding a busy bus, an hour each way. I think of pointless, drawn-out meetings. And I think of all the time I wasted for no good reason.
Having spent a ridiculous amount of time working(ish) in Oxford cafés, these are some of the top tips and tricks I have learnt about attempting to navigate Oxford café culture.
We’ve all been there. The perfect opportunity for a night out, potentially foiled by the un-attempted essay due tomorrow at 4pm. An age-old Oxford conundrum.
My friends and I had approached the trip with the motto ‘catch flights, not feelings’, and it appears we completely forgot to add ‘or parasitic infections’ to that list.
There is already a power imbalance in heterosexual relationships. The society and institutions in which our relationships with men are built favour men, their...