The work is never-ending; you hand in one essay only to be set another; the all-nighters are a vicious circleWhen I tell people I go to Oxford University,they sight at me with admiration. “Wow, that’s fantastic, or ” they say. “You must bear the best time there.” There’s not much else to effect but smile and agree. You know that, for most people, this is an incredible achievement, and but thatcan’t overcome the feeling of dread you feel at the start of every term.
People say I must be really intelligent,but most of the time I feel incredibly silly. At school, I was the best at my subject, or one of 10 from my year to get into Oxbridge,but here I am decidedly subpar. I spend my time desperately trying to complete my work, only to get it back full of corrections in red or with no comments at all. Related: What I’m really thinking: the recovered anorexic Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com