“The best three years of my life, you’ll have a blast!” is the usual response, when the notion of the university ‘experience’ is discussed with the majority of people who have served their time at one of Britain’s many hubs of higher education. Those precious three years where you allegedly forge long-lasting friendships, have a wild old time and more often than not, meet the love of your life. I left for uni with a rare case of open-mindedness and a faint slither of belief in such utterances. Fast forward to second year, where I find myself convinced that such positive remarks are only made by those belonging to an older generation, whose memories, albeit hazy and warped with the sheen of nostalgia and longing, were of an experience that was probably totally alright. I can only conclude that the modern student existence is a jaded shadow of its former, maybe exciting and relatively liberal self.
I suppose I’ve managed to scrabble together a few people whose company I enjoy for the most part, so that’s one prophecy that has come true, although this was not easy. My first term could only be described as some sort of social tundra, the breathtaking landscape replaced with rain drenched concrete and the retina-searing lights of a mid-refurbishment JB Morrell library. The second forecast of enjoying a ‘wild old time’ has so far escaped me however and at this point, a year and a bit in, I’ve given up entirely on this. Leaving me with only one more prediction to begrudgingly (desperately) fulfil before being churned out the other end, a barely employable husk of my former self. That is the notion of finding my future spouse, or at least long-term love interest.
The difficulties I have with this matter are clearly as a result of York University’s consistent failings to provide the framework in which I can successfully pursue any kind of relational endeavour. It must be York in particular, as many of my friends at other universities have been very successful in this regard. I haven’t deigned to ask them, but I imagine their chosen institutions provide a compelling programme of events and opportunities that foster the growth of such long term relationships with one’s ideal other.
Of course it can’t possibly be with me that the root of the problem lies. I’m assuredly the epitome of the modern, sensitive man. After all there is no better way of elaborating your feelings towards a girl than to never interact. To face them, make eye contact with or speak to is best avoided, and of course flirting is far too forward and presumptuous for those that are truly refined and considerate. In addition, high standards are a must for the discerning bachelor, and to lower them, even in the face of emotional austerity is to admit defeat.
Clearly, despite being a socially adept, relatively attractive young man, something about the environment I find myself in is lacking. I propose the introduction of a campus-wide drive to pair up each student with a beloved partner, all in a bid to recreate the spark that so evidently existed on the campuses of old. In the meantime, I’ll continue to listen to depressing, angst-ridden music and ponder my current, externally imposed loneliness.
Best. Article. Ever
The final two paragraphs are rather poignant. I thought the writer was a girl until that point. Keep us informed about your progress by publishing another article. What a charming read :)
The solution, my dear friend, is to be found in the basement of Ziggy’s.
It’s really not that difficult if you join a society. I’m in a few, and there’s quite a lot of pairing off.
Where do I sign up? ;)
Is this satire?