Inês Cardoso: This is not a love song

Apologies in advance if you came searching for some light-hearted romantic comedy after gliding effortlessly into Second Semester, bright-eyed and well-rested from your 8? 9? 11? week-long vacation. Remember First […]


Apologies in advance if you came searching for some light-hearted romantic comedy after gliding effortlessly into Second Semester, bright-eyed and well-rested from your 8? 9? 11? week-long vacation. Remember First Semester, aka the Semester From Hell? I do. How could we forget? To say that it was unkind is an understatement. It was a whips-and-chains-excite-me kind of term, the kind where you’re uncomfortable with the demands but feel obliged to fulfill them anyway, all the while gasping for air and looking bruised and battered by the end. Which, ya know, is great if you’re into that kind of stuff, but most unseemly for everyone else. The town reeked of desperate exhaustion, and the entire student population appeared to be in collective prayer for some kind of deus ex machina (aka READING WEEK) to save us from our terrible relationship with Term 1. Alas, it was not to be.

But while you’ve spent two months nursing your wounds and rejoicing in the much delayed delights of a post-Semester break up, I was house-bound, slowly but surely walking the plank to insanity as I attempted to make words on my computer screen vaguely resemble a dissertation. I spent every minute of my break unable to shake the feeling that my relationship with Semester 1 had not ended. Not only that, but I am now consumed by the fear that while everyone else is scattering rose petals, lighting candles, and staring tenderly, slightly vacantly and a little naughtily into the eyes of their new lover (Sem2), I am stuck in an extended, rancorous, festering relationship with its ugly cousin, Sem1. My winter break (or the absence thereof) bridged one semester seamlessly into the next, and as I try to resurface from dissertation-induced post-traumatic stress disorder *PITY PARTY* (see Image 1). I am struggling to understand what kind of thing I should pursue with this new, alluring kid in town.

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Image 1: An accurate representation of my state (minus the bridal wear) during my relationship with Sem1 (including the dissertation ‘vacation’) 

 

I mean, are we even an item? Will I be able to put an end to Sem1 once and for all and turn a new leaf in my life with Twotwo? Is it concerning that I have a nickname for him- it? For fear of irrevocably acquiring a reputation as the next BJOC (Bridget Jones On Campus), I’mma wrap this up. Twotwo, I’ve been honest with you from the start. This is not a love song. I didn’t write a card, I don’t come bearing flowers, and though I apologize for ruining the mood before we’ve barely gotten started, I sure don’t believe in miracles, you sexy thang. Blame it on the guy that came before you. I’m a little worse for wear, it’s true. But the bridge (read: dissertation) has been crossed (or burned?), I’ve heard rumours of a Spring Break and there’s talk of a 2-week revision period. Plus, it’s fourth year. In other words Twotwo, you may also be my last for a while (if not the last). Which means expectations are riding high. Ok, so my song is edged with skepticism, rid of rhymes, not in beat and slightly out of tune. But I have hope. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. My gift is my song, and this one’s for you. No, it’s definitely not a love song, not yet anyway. But still, Twotwo. Don’t go breaking my heart.