Failing a year at uni...
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Having had a blissful summer cruising from beach to beach and nightclub to nightclub, the concept of knuckling down to some hard work in September just didn’t register with me. Besides, did people actually work at university? It must be said that University tales from older brothers, sisters, parents and indeed grandparents were not of the lonesome hours spent in the library scrutinizing Newton’s fourth law! No, when I imagined life as a student it involved lounging around can of beer in hand, discussing the latest football results. At no point did the prospect of work really enter my subconscious. My only slight anxiety concerned the delivery of my student loan into my bank account. Would it, or would it not arrive in time for Freshers Week? It seemed that my appetite to learn had been left somewhere in my A-level exam hall. This carefree attitude towards my education did not, unfortunately, dissipate as the term progressed. I found that I was very selective in the areas to which I applied myself, dedicating time and effort to the modules I found easy and enjoyable, and very little to those I didn’t. It seemed easier to laugh off my lagging attendance and poor essay marks, despite constant emails from my tutor expressing concern. Come September the next year, I received the email I had been dreading.
Instead of reprimanding me for my own laziness, the university chose to take a more constructive approach. I was presented with three options. The first and least attractive was to drop out of university altogether. Having set my heart on being an architect and having already invested in my first year; I had no intention of leaving. The second option was to move up into the second year and to retake the module I had failed, in my spare time. I seriously considered this but eventually opted for the third option, which was to miss a year and retake the failed module. Although this meant an extra year of university, I was able to focus hard on the area that I found particularly troublesome and passed the module at the second attempt the following May. I found it very difficult seeing the majority of my friends progress to their second year of education while I was left behind, and I’m still very conscious of the fact that I will still be studying here a year after they have graduated. I would therefore like to stress the importance of communication at university. As I look back over my own mistakes, I can see how easily avoidable they would have been, had I of had the sense to ask somebody for help instead of burying my head in the sand. Yes, socialising is an important part of University life but through my own experiences, I would emphasise the virtue of balance: for every slice of pizza you consume, or for every pint of beer you imbibe, try to write at least 100 words of that nagging essay. Should you feel the workload becoming too intense, speak to your tutor, because once you’ve handed in that final essay, you can then appreciate the finer qualities of life!
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Once the car has driven away, the tearful goodbyes said and the metaphorical leash unfastened; it's little wonder that academic zeal gets temporarily stowed away under used pizza boxes, dirty underwear and empty beer bottles.
I was summoned to a meeting with my tutor to discuss my poor performance. Fearing the worst, I made the trip along the South Coast from my home in Brighton to the School of Architecture in Plymouth, where I was told I hadn’t accumulated enough credits to carry me through to the next academic year.
