When I was in high school, a mere year before graduation, my Econs teacher told my class, “University will be the best four years of your life.” At the time, I was a starry-eyed teen who looked forward to this promised paradise. But now that I’m on the cusp of graduating once again, I can confidently say that he was wrong.
Before starting university, as an avid fan of the dark academia genre, I had certain visions about how my university life would go. I dreamt of cute sweater vests and gingham-print coats (my dreams clearly had no regard for the weather), artisanal coffee (it also had no regard for my wallet), and an unfaltering drive to learn. But suffice it to say, university did not play out the way I dreamt it would. And I don’t say this simply because of COVID (although that definitely contributes).
For years we have been fed the fairytale of university: late-night study sessions in gorgeous libraries with steamy cups of coffee; staying up well into the twilight hours with friends, just chatting and having fun; engaging in enriching, intellectual discussions with peers and professors alike; and achieving that ‘lightbulb’ moment when your purpose in life gains clarity. But like all fairytales, reality hardly lives up to such expectations. For starters, the first time I initiated a late-night study session, I realised it was not a sustainable approach for me. I love sleep and getting my eight hours in, and it was too difficult to stay up all night—least of all to study—and still make it to class the next day. As for friends, while I did make some really close and wonderful friendships in my first year, it simply wasn’t the riot of partying and soul-searching conversations I had brewed up in my mind.
But what is it about university that makes us romanticise it so much? Is it its reputation as a hub for knowledge? Or perhaps it’s the myth that we’ll somehow magically ‘find ourselves’ during this period? But what does that even mean? Whatever the myriad reasons are for romanticising university, the impact of it can lead to an overwhelming sense of loss and desperation for already-struggling university students. And I believe this is something freshies especially can relate to. During my first semester in NUS, I constantly felt like I should be doing more. It wasn’t enough that I was a conscientious member of two student clubs and working part-time. All I could think about was the 4 clubs I had dropped out of within the first month because of the workload.
And apparently, I’m not the only one who felt this way. I had heard one of the seniors in the ballroom dancing club (one that I regrettably had to drop) talk about this phenomenon: when excited freshmen join a lot of clubs from the sheer need to make the most of their university experience and inevitably reduce it to two-three once the reality of the workload hits. Oftentimes, this need doesn’t stem solely from the excitement of exploring a new interest, but also a fear of missing out (FOMO). The popular rhetoric of pushing your boundaries and ‘finding yourself’ in university implies that you need to take part in numerous activities and really take advantage of the opportunities a university provides. While all this may be true, should it be at the expense of our happiness? Did I really like ballroom dancing, or was it just the popular narrative coercing me into trying out a niche interest?
The Reality of University
What the media tends to ignore about university is the work. Unfortunately, academic excellence really does come from many boring hours of work. It isn’t at all like the fun music montages you see in movies wherein you frantically flip through three pages of an obscure text before magically finding that one paragraph that perfectly justifies your thesis. If you want your degree, you have to take the coursework seriously, and not just cram the day before exams. Fortunately or unfortunately, a lot of modules in NUS follow the continuous assessment structure, and studying for university can be a wildly different experience from secondary school. This means having to do the pre-tutorial readings every week, turning up to an 8am lecture for the class participation, and camping out at the Central Library to check out the mandatory-reading textbook from the RBR for two short hours. And come midterms and finals week, you’ll likely have little time to do anything but study. So if you come into university expecting it to be a never-ending party, you’ll be sorely disappointed.
Another less mentioned aspect of university is the transience of friendships. This was something I was wholly unprepared for. You see, I was expecting to forge ride-or-die friendships that lasted well into my adulthood. It was what movies had conditioned me for. But the truth is, a lot of friendships that you make, especially during class, fade once the module ends and you no longer see each other on a weekly basis. This is especially the case for students who stay at home and don’t have dorm mates to hang out with. Of course, you can make some very close friends, but oftentimes the number of friendships that slip away can seem to overwhelm the number you hold onto. This is especially true ever since the advent of Zoom university. As of now, the online medium is barely conducive to forming or sustaining friendships, even if you work closely together for group projects. This can often lead to friendships feeling transactional and disingenuous, which can contribute to a pervasive sense of loneliness and loss.
And lastly, there’s also the myth of the ‘university glow-up.’ I call it a myth because oftentimes it’s portrayed as happening over a span of a week where the timid freshie blossoms and grows comfortable in their own skin. While this might be true for some, the majority still feel awkward and insecure even after graduation. Your degree doesn’t bestow you with confidence and freedom from self-doubt, and it’s unrealistic to think that you’ll have your life together by the time you graduate. Sure, I may have learned more about myself through the experiences that I gained in university which may give me more confidence in myself, but don’t you continue to learn more about yourself when you start a new job, get married, have children, or establish a company? These novel experiences will likely cause new worries, and your fears and insecurities will grow along with you, evolving as you change. And this isn’t a bad thing, for no one has their life so well put-together. After all, which 50-year-old can be the same person that they were at 24? The goal should be about making progress—not getting to the finish line.
What Can You Expect?
University is not all that it’s cracked up to be, least of all now that COVID has taken away a lot of its joy and inspiration. You may feel like time is slipping out of your hands, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You may feel frustrated, and angry at the circumstances. And that’s to be expected. For many of us, the prime of our youths often overlaps with our time in university. And yet, our generation has lost what this youth should entail because of the global pandemic. Many of us have had to forgo the experience of travelling with our friends, of clubbing for the first time, of SEP. It’s no surprise that we are disappointed at how things have played out.
“Every generation feels it has the problems that will destroy it. That’s because we can perceive them a long time before we have the ability to fix them.”
Peter Diamandis
The problems of romanticising university have affected every generation. But the gap between expectation and reality has probably never been wider than for us. But getting wrapped up in the doom-and-gloom will only blind us to the many benefits that university can afford us even in this time. University can still be an enriching experience where you can make lasting memories, and develop your skills and character. It’s also a time when you explore your own independence and examine your beliefs and values by meeting new people with new perspectives.
The truth of the matter is, I like university. But is it the best four years of my life? No. But thank God for that. Wouldn’t it be a shame to peak at 24, anyway?