Impressions of a First Yearer

(STUDENT LIFE)

- Words, Sinead O’Shaughnessy. Photograph, Vera Ada.

As the fogies settle back into yet another semester, with the usual complaints about queues in UniBooks, and the ridiculous amount of money spent over the weekend getting smashed, a few hundred first years struggle their way through the cloudy abyss of university life. I’m one of them.

At the frivolity of O-Camp, I’m introduced to a variety of people with unusual talents, body parts, and an extraordinary desire to wrestle naked in pools of oil. (I’m often stopped on campus by kids from the camp, but I can’t remember names – one’s The-Drunk-Dancer, another’s That-Guy-Who-Ate-Dog-Food). After O-Camp I head into O-Week, where I promptly join every single club and spend all my pocket money on membership fees – all the while feeling like a true-blue uni student.

Coming from a sheltered and close-knit school of 600 girls, the sheer size of the university makes me want to run screaming.

The first week is spent meeting up with old school chums and swapping stories about our degrees, making vows about how much we plan to study each night and promising to severely cut back on our social life. My vow lasts a week.

At the UniBar, I meet likeminded people with a driving ambition to succeed (in getting drunk).

I finally find the library. Attempting to locate a book, I find myself lost in the deep cavern of the Barr Smith Main Collection. Running around in a panic, thinking that my corpse will eventually be found several days later, I spot a rather obvious sign entitled ‘Way Out’. After regaining my composure, I stroll out of the library, only to set off the beeper by forgetting to actually borrow my books. As my study buddy says, “Sinead, I’m just waiting for you to embarrass me”.