Student Life Romanticised

In fact, rather than noticing that my topics of interest follow a recurring pattern, I started paying attention to how I go about discussing them. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my professor from Discursive Psychology for this fine ability, as this module consisting of speech and language analysis has more or less been my entire life this semester. It’s good fun, really, when you begin noticing that even in everyday life, whenever people are about to say something even remotely judgemental, they throw in a disclaimer that “they’re not racist, but”, or make longer pauses in their speech in attempt to look for the “right” words and wait for their listener to give them their queue which allows them to express this. I tend to finish every single one of my rants with a “but I don’t know” myself, just to make my complaint sound a bit more adequate. Implicit tricks, my favourite.

All jokes aside, as we are now halfway through the second semester of my third year at university, I am beginning to feel slightly nostalgic as I am realising that I adore Edinburgh in a way I would never imagine back in first year. Its picturesque streets, cozy cafes and gloomy skies bring me comfort, and the cute pubs on every corner are a guarantee of a great night out. I called my mother two weeks ago when studying in the library bar on campus and she teared up at the sight of all the students sitting in the leather armchairs with their empty cups of coffee, the books on the old, wooden shelves, and the sounds of jazz playing in the background. She said she was envious that this romanticised version of university life is what I get to immerse myself in every day.

Our train is slowly approaching Manchester Victoria where we will happily disembark and make our way to the hostel accommodating us this weekend. The train is buzzing with excitement for such a big competition and another memorable night out in a new city with the dancers ahead. I have an essay in Discursive Psychology due next week, but so long as I get to analyse aspects of prejudice in everyday speech in one of those leather armchairs, I will enjoy every single bit of it. My mum is right. I am so lucky.