I feel as if I’ve been conditioned to go to university.
Ever since I’ve been a child, I’ve fantasised about these magnificently huge and flourishing buildings standing amongst historically proud trees, where just at a tiny fraction of these trees legs parents would be standing with the same pride and wave their child off. But, of course this “child” wasn’t a child anymore. Oh, no, no, no. This “child” had just entered the age group we like to call adults. Yes, these children were now adults. Big and bold, they no longer had to hold in their dreams in fear of the frightening rein of their parents. They were free. Childhood forgotten, they would step flamboyantly past the threshold and into their dorm rooms where they could sparkle their personality and style onto the sparsely furnished box. And a day in a lecture or tutorial room would be like no other. They were happy. They were free. They were adults. I wanted to be them.
But now, I’m not so sure.
Recently, my sister told me that “unless you don’t get into Oxford or Cambridge there’s no point in leaving London for a university”. Admittedly, I almost cried at the truth in her words. I live in London and for me university represented freedom from this urbanised city. That’s why they always said you “leave for university”, never stay. However, since the rise in tuition fees, the prospect of university has seemed to force distance between me and my dreams.
My sister was and is right. I have a few decent universities which at the most are an hour and a half away. I could just get a yearly travel card and live with my mum for the 4 or 3 years at university. Yeah, it would suck but my mum doesn’t have that 9000 or so pounds needed to get me into university, let alone the money needed to support me while in accommodation rooms. She can barely pay the weekly bills. I don’t ever want to be such a burden to my mum when all she’s ever done is support me. It’s unfair.
See, I’ve always dreamed of supporting my mum financially because, somehow, despite our poverty she never made it feel as if we were never poor. Having five children must have been hard but she tried her best to provide for every single one of us. Where she lacked financially, she was able to make up emotionally. She didn’t need those £20 DVD’s or videos, all she needed was the things we already had at home, like chairs and bedsheets, and she would be able to make a fortress where we would play in the morning. Through the afternoon she would let us play in the park for hours and give us 10p each for ice lollies. By the time we’d get back we would play a game of cards or read a book she had gotten from the charity shop that afternoon. My point is, she had successes and she had some failures, like all of us do, but she never let that get in the way of raising me and my siblings.
I feel like you should know that my sister which made me think about this was my little sister. My 12 year old sister actually ended up talking through it with me, and for the first time, I understand that side of the argument, the side I never dared to look at.
I guess I’ve gone off on a tangent but my point is that I’m scared of the future just as much as I’m scared of the past. I don’t want to be but I am. I feel as if I’m one amongst 7 billion others. I feel as if I’m lost in a crowded world. I feel as if, if I don’t make it in two years I’ll never make it.
“Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.”
Let’s just hope I don’t let doubt or fear rule my life, shall we?
Nakedstreetkid out! 🙂