“What does summer mean to me?” was always the first question on the first page of a new schoolbook. A trap disguised as a creative writing prompt. You were...
On quiet St Clements Street, a warm glow welcomes guests from behind an unobtrusive facade – Pan Pan restaurant promises a casual and comfortable dining experience.
In the summer before starting university, with my place at Oxford secured, and the reality of the impending plunge into the unknown beginning to dawn on me, I embarked on a three-week long solo trip around Italy.
"Ultimately, getting better is not about erasing the past in the promise of the future; it is learning to say your name with a smile, knowing it has always been yours to say and will continue to be."
here is a lot to be said for blind positivity. On a good day, I’m a manifester, a big believer in my ability to speak things into existence. During my English A-Level, I had complete confidence that the crystals hidden in my bra would provide enough luck to snag me an A*. Today, I put great faith in words, relying on the same ‘I can do it’ that gets Olympic athletes across the finish line, to help me through difficult situations.
I’m now in my fourth year, and as such, must grapple with the reality of my Oxford days drawing to a close. Granted, this is something that every student must contend with, and I watched on as most of my friends bade a fond farewell to this city where our friendships began when they graduated last summer. Yet there is something about the fourth year that I’m certain makes the final year even more strange: a sense of something already lost, of living in a moment that has already passed.