It is 8 in the morning, and the boot of my father’s car is open in the street. Not that anyone could steal anything out of it, as there is a constant flow of my mother, my father, and I carrying an obscene amount of boxes out of the house and attempting to jigsaw them into place in the boot. The first half of the TikTok transitions have been filmed and the playlist has been ready for weeks; the back seats are down, the GPS is programmed, and I anxiously clutch my key receipt in my hands for the entire journey. We’re St Andrews-bound!
Flash forward to the end of the week, and somehow I still have a hangover? Not that I drank at all this week, but there seems to be something in the air—and it’s not just freshmen’s flu. If anything, I’ve been knocked out purely from running to and from different events, and my phone has whatever I’ve caught too. This week was finally the time to make good on all the "omg we should totally meet up!” promises and carve out spaces in between all of the society meet-and-greets and sports sessions to finally grab that coffee and get in some reading in advance. At least, that was what I had planned.
Moving in was insanity. To start with, we almost couldn't find out how to get the car into my hall, and then we realised we had to climb SIX FLIGHTS OF STAIRS to get to my room. (I am on the third floor in the only wing with no lift, and when I tell you I really don't need that gym membership I forked out on, I am NOT LYING.) Uni hall made up for, though; I'll never forget the feeling of finding my room number and meeting my roommate for the first time. It was a gruelling day, and wearing my yet-to-be-broken-in Dr. Martens to carry heavy boxes up and down so many stairs probably wasn't the best idea, but the feeling of being able to flop onto my brand new sheets on my brand new bed made up for it completely.
Credit: Sophie Rose Jenkins.
Going out with my family for dinner was emotional, and whilst I didn't miss them too much at first, the homesickness set in quickly after they'd left following the parents reception. It didn't help the situation when I quickly realised that although I left the room unlocked, my roommate also has a key and is able to lock it when they leave, meaning I am trapped on one side of the door and my room key is trapped on the other. Cue a scene of me running down stairs, going outside to the reception, and then having to climb said stairs again to get back to my room for a two-second twist of a key. The wardens must hate me now, but at least they are a few packets of chocolate biscuits richer.
The first night was chaotic—I went to our hall's free bar, realised that nobody was dancing and the music was deafening, swore off parties, and went up to my room to make some hot chocolate. At last, successfully in my room and in possession of my keys, the sunset lamp was glowing, the snacks were at the ready, and Gilmore Girls was on until I hunkered down for the night.
It has been absolute chaos trying to settle in and at the same time figure out what I was on when I decided to do three modules in subjects I've never taken before. The first week has been a drag and blast at the same time—it's a lot of information but seems to be the same thing every lecture. Aside from that, I've been desperately trying to balance auditioning for shows and the commitments of various other societies, as well as taking on 2 work shifts every week.
It's hard not to compare my experience to that of others; when I see other people sitting in their already-solidified friend groups in lectures, I forget that I have an amazing friend group back in my halls, just scattered across different subjects. I can't lie, I've been crying almost every day for the last three weeks, and I want my mommy—not just my academic one (despite how much I love her). Homesickness and isolation are real issues when you move to a completely new city, but I know everyone has their own path, and I'm trying not to stray from mine.
Credit: Callisto Lodwick.
I tried not to be Rory Gilmore on her first night at university but, in all honesty, it wasn’t as easy as I’d expected. I have so far missed my alarm a grand total of 42 times, got lost somewhere in the region of 137 different ways, and thrown most of my tragically over-ambitious goals completely out the window and down three floors to their grisly deaths (in what world was I really going to go to the gym at 6am anyway?). Although, between the running to classes and staggering home from various dubious commitments in the night, when I grab a coffee, I’ve already managed to convince myself that I’m strutting through the urban jungle that is St Andrews in some sort of small town remake of Sex and the City. After all, in this environment in such a perfect autumn, how can I not pretend I'm in a rom-com every day?
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