Being an adult

First year

Everyday the rubbish bins are emptied and carpets are swept. The bathrooms are mopped and I never have to worry about running out of toilet paper. The kitchens counters are wiped there is not one kettle, but TWO. While at highly inconvenient times, breakfast, lunch and dinner are served hot and usually edible. The sticky toffee pudding could even be called excellent. Really, is there anything to fret about? For some it’s the laundry. Also known as the expensive process for losing one sock and seeing everyone’s knickers. Photos captioned “First load of laundry xxx!” take over my Facebook feed. For others the biggest transition is being away from home, highlighted when every highly anticipated letter is from RBS and not my mom.

Meleah Moore

Second year

There once was a time in my life when all I cared about was the morning stroll to Pagan Osborne to check out the goodies they had in their windows. I had found the perfect flatmates, now all we needed was the ideal house. Eventually we found it. It had everything we needed, and the promise of new carpets was enough to get our signatures on the bottom line. Ta da, we all thought, now all we need to do is unpack our boxes, string up the fairy lights and we’ll be good to go. No. No, no, no, NO. How wrong could we be?! Before we knew what was happening, reams of paper were flying through the letterbox – deposit notifications, inventory lists, bills and electricity readings. At first we all sat down together, convinced that four university worthy brains would be able to get their collective heads around the workings of a gas bill. Two weeks later, we’re still trying to work it out. Who knew that there was so much intricacy involved in exempting yourself from council tax? We’re not even sure what’s happening with the gas, and until we do, all heating has been banned. This has resulted in donning enough layers to sink a small ship and inviting people “back to ours” without an inkling of sexual desire, purely for the need of more body heat.

Zara Thacker

Third year

At 7:52 the haunting sound of the iPhone marimba jars me from my sleep. Then again at 8:01. And again at 8:10. “I won’t be able to get anything done if I’m not well rested”, I tell myself as I reset my alarm to 10:15. “I wouldn’t want exhaustion to affect my productivity”. I shower sometime between realizing that the laundry needed to be done yesterday and finding that the fridge is barren except for: condiments, a block of cheese, and milk that I’m pretty sure went off a couple days ago. A pair of dirty trousers and a Tesco value meal-deal later and I’m in the library. 150 pages today? Yeah, that should just about keep me on track with the workload. Plus, I can’t afford to slip up like yesterday. This is Honors IR. If I don’t pass this class, the terrorists win. 7 hours and 43 pages later, I find myself on my friend’s couch for a scary movie night. “I did all I could,” my thoughts unconvincingly reason between sips of wine. “I did what I could today, but tomorrow will be different.” I set my alarm for 7:52.

Braden Harris

 Fourth year

If this is what it’s like to be grown up, I want to go back. Working and studying is hard. Remembering to pay your bills harder – Orange consistently has to call me to tell me I owe them money. Luckily, I’m not allowed an overdraft, because I’d go overboard with the power (and money) at hand. Sure, by fourth year we’re meant to have learned something, but all I’ve learned is how to pretend to be grown up. If someone asks me what I’m doing next year, I can nod efficiently and change the subject. At least I no longer trip over my own feet, but I still can’t feed myself or make my bed every day. Oops.

Paola Salcedo Largaespada