This week marks another milestone in my master’s program: the last week of classes. One class ended last week with a series of presentations, but for the other 3, this will be the last time I meet in a class setting for my master’s degree. Tomorrow, in particular, is the last time we meet in a core class that everyone in my course is required to take, so it’s like the last hurrah: the last time we all come together to learn.
It’s been over 5 months now, so not only am I almost halfway into the second semester, but I’m also almost halfway through my year-long master’s program here at the University of Manchester.
I haven’t done the best job documenting my time here, preferring to tweet inane comments about the weather, about football, about drinking cheap Pinot Grigio by the bottle. It’s hard for me to believe that by this time in Brighton, I was preparing to leave in a month, whereas in Manchester I still have so much to do.
So, grad school. It’s dominated my life the past few weeks as I’ve scrambled to finish my coursework for the first semester. Now that all my essays are handed in, I’ve had time to reflect on it, and I wanted to share a few thoughts:
My first week of classes is done. I suppose I am a proper postgraduate student now.
I spent most of my first week sick and in bed, wanting to be outside. There’s that early anxiety when you first arrive somewhere that if you’re not as busy as humanly possible that you somehow will cease to exist. The last thing I want to be right now is invisible. I’m content to be in the sidelines, never the center of attention, but I don’t want to be alone. And yet even in a thriving university with 40,000 students and a city with many, many more than that, that’s how I’ve felt these first couple of weeks — desperately, depressingly alone.