That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
On the one hand, I was worried that I’d get to Oxford, and realise that it was perfect for me. I was terrified I’d turn up at the college and love it. Talk to the people and think, damn, these are my kind of guys.
On the other, I was eager to see what Oxford was really like, from the point of view of a student there, rather than the idealised, rose-tinted spectacles of a 17-year old A Level student.
The train journey there was long and tedious. I still hadn’t fully recovered from Ziggy’s on the Wednesday, so kept dozing off in incredibly uncomfortable positions before jerking awake and checking my phone, paranoid I’d missed my stop. Thanks to some carefully-timed alarms on said phone, though, I managed to get off at Oxford and meet my friend at the station without ending up somewhere very uncalled for.
First impressions are important, and Oxford station gave me something to think about. It is smaller than York station, but they have ticket barriers that just confused me. There’s also a massive range of cafes and shops, including a fancy-looking juice bar. A juice bar? In a train station? I’ll confess I was impressed, if not a little bemused.
The city itself, I have to admit, was pretty awesome. It helped that my friend took me on a roundabout route, making sure we passed all the beautiful buildings; but there was just a different air about the city. The history of it all: that was most impressive and awe-inspiring. I couldn’t help but look at the colleges and think of the past: how many great men and woman had trod those streets and passed through those gates?
It was definitely impressive.
But, to my great surprise and astonishment… I didn’t like it!
I know, I was surprised too. What was there not to like?
Well, that wasn’t really the problem. The problem wasn’t that it was Oxford; the problem was that it wasn’t York.
And now I’ve said it: I love York. I am a convert and proud of it.
It was wrong being at a university, and not being on a campus. My friend’s college was twenty minutes away from everything else; his college is his life, and everything was too quiet. Here, you can find somebody up and around at any time of the day. There, the place seemed dead by 11pm. They even lock the college gates at midnight! Although, having to climb back in, effectively breaking into the College at 2am, in 3-inch heels and a minidress, made the night out that little bit more exciting.
So, the college and university experience just seemed wrong. Then there was the nightlife. Don’t get me wrong, there wasn’t much wrong with it – just that it was pretty expensive. Ultraviolet stamps were cool though. And ultraviolet light on the dancefloor made things trippy. Apparently my teeth glow. I don’t know what I’d been eating that day!
But it wasn’t until I met some students, that I realised, despite my childhood dreams, I probably couldn’t have adjusted to Oxford life.
Now, I don’t want to subscribe to stereotypes – these guys all seemed like perfectly lovely people in most regards. Yet in some regards, I’m not going to lie, I disliked them strongly. For example, when there was an awkward silence when my one friend said he was re-sitting his A levels. And the disinterest in other friend’s courses at less well thought of universities: and then their enthusiasm to talk about York, just because it’s considered one of the best in the country. Okay, I was glad they wanted to talk to me – but I also wanted to hit them for snubbing my friends. Some things are stronger than sharing intellectual jokes, and growing up together is one of them. I’ll be the first to admit that I took some of my own prejudices to the table, but I gave Oxford a chance to dispel them. It failed on many counts.
Needless to say, by the end of the weekend, I was feeling thoroughly uncomfortable and a little bit concerned. Was this really the University experience I had wanted? I think if I had gone, I may have always struggled with my own prejudices and my own sense of inferiority next to fellow students who would be either incredibly clever, or incredibly rich, or annoyingly, both.
I’m going to go with no.
I wanted to grow as a person, study some fantastic literature, and meet wonderful people that I could have a great time with.
And that’s why I love York.
Because I’ve done exactly that.
Great article. It's hard when you're rejected from Oxbridge and in turn relieved because you consider yourself better off; people usually brush you off as just being jealous of those who did get in. I applied similarly because I was told I'd fit in, and I didn't want to be thinking "what if?" The three days I had at Oxford for interview were terrible, I pretty much hated the entire experience; the people I met, I found the city claustrophobic, the atmosphere was tense and competitive; I know I would have run myself into the ground if I'd tried to compete with everyone. I think it was a blessing in disguise that I didn't get in. Not saying it's not for everyone, but it wasn't for me.
I like this.
Good article. It makes a nice contrast to a recent comment piece in Nouse, which was decidely bitter about not being at Oxbridge. Nice to hear from someone without a chip on their shoulder.
You're better off here in York, and in Derwent. Oxford cannot compare.
Very nice article... such a lovely and open-minded uni!
You must log in to submit a comment.
Report