The sobering tonic of an Oxbridge rejection

There are so many of us here who, if not for a grade or two, would be walking within the gated quadrangles found all over  the city of dreaming spires – isn’t there an old adage by Yeats – “I wonder if anyone does anything in Oxford but dream and remember?” Yes, I have a confession to make – I’m Airashi and I’m an Oxbridge reject (I bet there’s enough of us here to form a small army!) I remember people mentioning, as part of their introduction during Freshers week, that they were oxbridge rejects… it’s THAT common.

As long as I can remember, the end-goal was to have an Oxbridge degree (whatever the subject) which would, in the words of my family be “a ticket to entry to everything”. “What’s a St Andrews to a Christ Church?”  We all have that one favourite college, one which we have dreamed of going to for years – of running across the quad to and spend nights laying outside gazing at the stars.

Just one grade away from spires 

We tell ourselves that we are happy – we don’t have to deal with eight week terms amongst other things, but really there is always some bitterness festering within us when someone speaks so casually of their experiences in Christ Church. It hurts and will continue to hurt for the rest of our lives (unless there are Oxbridge masters… but really it isn’t the same.)

I live vicariously through my friends at Oxbridge – I’m ashamed to admit I could spend hours scrolling through their various social media platforms, just taking in the Oxbridge experience – imagining myself there with them at Matriculation, wearing a carnation to sit exams, at May Ball and Commemoration Ball. Heck, I listen to Oxbridge themed study mixes on 8tracks – just to picture myself living that life.

Did I really grace the hallowed quad, or was it once upon a dream?

I think my mental health is a lot better here in St Andrews than it would’ve been had I gone to Oxbridge. St Andrews is a fabulous place and I am so glad I came. Its really their loss isn’t it? That’s what I tell myself when I go to sleep, crying over the oxford prospectus and my rejection letter which I replied with my own rejection letter rejecting them (ala Elly Nowell).