Reflecting On Four Years In The Bubble

As I stumble over the final few terribly demanding hurdles standing between me and the promised land of an utterly undeserved 2:1, I find myself perilously unprepared for what is to come once I am birthed in the amniotic sac that has been St Andrews. Talk about the bubble, eh? The thought of clambering back into the comforts of the academic womb by way of a Master’s, to extend my time attached to the umbilical cord of student and parental finance, is a grim prospect, but one that looks increasingly likely. So, as I am slowly pushed down the graduation canal, scrambling in vain for preventative purchase on the passing of time, I ask: has it been worth it?

Academically speaking, my experience in St Andrews has been an utter disappointment. My first two years were tainted by online learning with no reduction in tuition fees. Fortunately for me however, some of my living costs were offset by a transatlantic ‘scholarship’ courtesy of a generous benefactor (my then girlfriend). But 10 grand to listen to some crusty lecturer drone through the previous year’s slides amounts to serious fraud in my book — and that’s without consideration of the hordes of Ivy League rejects paying international fees.

The subsequent two years of long-overdue in-person teaching did not improve things significantly. The same crusty lecturers are droning on and on, but this time I’m deprived of the ability to turn my camera off, hit mute, burrito myself in my duvet and retire for the day. Jokes aside, coasting was fun for a time, but when honours came around, I was ready to be challenged academically to prove myself less academically challenged than my sub-honours grades might suggest. Instead, no more was demanded of me — arguably even less. All I have been required to do (and I realise this is subject-specific) is attend my meagre six weekly contact hours; submit between 5000 and 8000 words; selectively engage my brain; and ensure that I am still breathing by the end of the semester, to get a solid 2:1. 

Entering honours, I thought, for example, extensions would be a crutch of the past, yet the four horsemen of the student excuse — mental health, diarrhoea, vomiting, and migraines — are as reliable as ever. They surely don’t believe I’ve had violent bouts of the sh**s thrice semesterly? Come on. My point is that the bar has been set so embarrassingly low that one cannot possibly feel rewarded by achieving a 2:1. Conversely, 1:1s are so elusive that many students find themselves stranded in the academic doldrums long before the conclusion of their studies, unable to achieve a 1:1 without divine intervention and safe from a 2:2 provided they at least survive the semester. That’s where I find myself. And it’s really depressing.

Satisfaction, fulfilment, and value must therefore be found elsewhere. There are, for example, a host of elitist and pretentious event committees to involve oneself in to pass the time now that your academic destiny has been decided. However, involvement in some equates to serfdom, working tirelessly for your public school or Upper East Side overlords. The compulsory and mortifying update to your Facebook cover photo to demonstrate your allegiance to the cult you have unknowingly joined, only makes things worse. If fashion shows are not your forte, there are hosts of artsy-fartsy publications and plays; degenerate drinking clubs galore; multiple music collectives; and plenty more to sink your time into. 

These exploits all significantly contribute to the unique experience offered at St Andrews. And truthfully, fortunate enough to attend these follies, I often find myself genuinely stunned that — though expensive — these events are solely the work of our student body. Being part of one such committee must be immensely rewarding. 

But do they make up for such a disappointing academic deal, especially for what remains of the Covid cohort, saddled with debt and short-changed? Surely not.

Illustration by: Lauren White