Why did I randomly change my mind and come to Uni?

It's almost four am. It's the first night I'm not spending at my boyfriend's house after a month of spending all our time together, I've got a cup of tea half cold in my hands. I start to think. Why am I so unhappy?

The time I spent in Falmouth and at home in Sweden over the summer are some of my happiest memories to date. Pure contentment and living life exactly how I want to. A pure summer of sunshine, lake water, happy people, wellington boots and laughter with people I value and love, all came to an end when I arrived back at home in Bradford-on-Avon. After opening my A level results, I shoved them back in their envelope. What did it matter? Yes they were good, but they weren't going to be used for anything. They lay dormant in the envelope on my kitchen table.

"I didn't realise how miserable you were until I saw how you actually look when you're happy" my boyfriend said to me. I couldn't help but cry. I'm a very emotional person, too much of anything will make me incredibly emotional and hysteric. But I couldn't tell him he was wrong. He knew he was right, and I knew it too.

I soon realised that there was nothing for me at home. I had drifted from a vast majority of people in my life I once considered my closest friends, a few of them who I hadn't were leaving for Uni and the few that remained wanted me to be happy, and I couldn't be.

University has been like being handed a fresh bottle of water after a hike in the dessert for 7 years. After 7 years of very painful, tough and exhausting years, coming to university was like finally seeing sense. I am free to express myself, behave the way I want to, associate with people who make me laugh and smile not cry and question what I think or say.

It gave me the opportunity to start again, realise what it is I want to do and for once in my life really try at something that mattered a lot to me. And that's what I've done, and hope to continue doing.

tea, mornings and some other ramblings

Good morning blog readers! It recently came to my attention just how much my life has changed since I went to University. Whether it's the place, the people or the course, things are very different.

When I was studying for my A levels, I'd wake up at 7.30, choke down my elixir of life - usually coffee - and I'd make my way (usually late) to school. Upon arriving at the harsh blue gates and often grey skies, I'd be greeted by a cloud of perfume clutching a clipboard ready to take my name to put me on the detention list for my slovenly attitude towards punctuality.
I easily spent about 6 hours in detention in year 13 for lateness - not something I'm particularly proud of - I hated a vast majority of my lessons and a few of my teachers for a multitude of reasons, and I felt like every day was a struggle. In the words of Tolstoy, "live in the needs of the day", and that is exactly what I did.

The only kind of morning person I'll be, is the kind who stays up to 6am on the internet and sleeps until early afternoon. I will probably never embrace waking up at any time before 9, whether it's because I go to bed really late or because I love my sleep, but being at University has certainly made waking up that bit more enjoyable.

I've ditched the coffee and replaced it with tea, I easily drink at least four or five cups of tea a day - and I have no shame or guilt in it anymore. I love to spend my time in between lectures tea in one hand and a book in the other whilst chatting with bantering in consequence.

I feel more comfortable here. At school I spent my time in the library alone or with one other person who made me feel comfortable because I felt judged, disliked and overwhelmed.

News Journalism?

When I started my degree, I knew what I wanted from it. I had expectations, hopes, the lot. My ambition has always been to be a fashion or travel journalist. My first two months of my degree have been based on news writing, the most traditional form of journalism (potentially) and a million miles from what I expected.

A city girl through and through, I feel at home in the hustle and bustle of crowds, pigeons, cigarette butts and tall buildings. I thrive in places bursting with life of all ages, backgrounds, and general West Country nonsense. The Georgian setting of Bath has long since been full of news - some genuine and others... not quite so genuine. From Chaucer to sightings of Johnny Depp and the like, there is always something going on, so, stepping out into the small town of Falmouth where I now reside was a big challenge for me. Before, I had news thrown at me from my family and friends and the other thousands of city dwellers who like myself love to talk and spread the news. In a completely new setting where I knew next to nobody, I felt as though I was stood at a precipice with little or no equipment to catch myself with should I fall.

But learning news writing has taught me a valuable lesson - that there is an element of importance in all walks of journalism. What is irrelevant and boring to one person is another person's mantra, a feeding ground for knowledge and gossip and of the highest importance. Though at first glance the fire demonstration of the building in which I live is not the most enthralling subject, when you dig deep enough it became infinitely clear that there was a reason why it was newsworthy. It was newsworthy because it was necessary. The follow up story based upon the connection between alcohol consumption and fires in student accommodation I covered was somewhat close to my heart, being a rare consumer of alcohol.


Being a journalist isn't just about writing fancy stories, nor is it about covering the biggest stories. All is relative when the world is narrowed down to the boundaries of one town. The difficulty isn't in finding the stories or finding the right people to ask, it lies within finding a fresh angle. People already know there are fire demonstrations for young people because they are connoted with reckless behaviour. They aren't, however, exposed to the true statistics that it is older people who cause more fires through alcohol consumption unless they are faced with it in an everyday article.

Although I'm not sure I have been swayed in my interests of journalism, I have learnt that the real stories come from people, and a range of people at that. The vibrancy of a story can never be on the same rainbow spectrum if not enhanced by the perspectives of the people who live through the story, experience the story and ultimately, become a part of the story.