The Caterpillar

Being at university is a weird age and time where we’re all too young and poor to actually accomplish anything yet there’s never been more ambition in the room. On top of that, everyone is so carefully trying to reinvent themselves, to hide the fact that once upon a time the edgy artist was once the asthmatic sitting out of P.E. like the rest of us. I’m not saying people don’t accomplish anything while pissing away thousands both on the lectures themselves and up the brick cladding of a dive bar – they do. It’s just never you, it will always be a one-in-a-million story you see on Facebook which incidentally came about from one of those stories.

For the rest of us, it’s all about trying not to go completely broke and trying not to be drowned by our own panic, whether it be moral or otherwise. I’m at the end of my first year at university and coming to my second which, while demonstrating how much time flies when you’re treading water, has also demonstrated how much life can be lived in ten months compared to nineteen years. Maybe I’m alone in being totally, if not completely, disillusioned with the education sector as I was sold on the fraternities and sororities of the United States with a generous splash of good-times and repartee, not seeing those grey skies when everyone else sees a perfect baby blue. In fact, the only good times that I can say I’ve had in my university experience thus far is when I was as far out of my own mind as I could possibly go.

I’ve asked several friends about this to see if I was alone in being fed up of campus living and the resounding answer I received was: ‘maybe you shouldn’t have got involved with so many psychos’. That made me laugh because while I have crammed more life lived in ten months than nineteen years while being here, I have also met and stuck around with more of those edgy artists than some do in a lifetime.

It’s the realisation that the system isn’t broken it’s the people in it.

The situation is reminiscent of a James Bond movie: the villain makes it. While I can’t work out who the villains are until it’s too late or if I’m my own antagonist, in a twisted sense, I’m not sure if I’d have it any other way.  It’s not as exciting as MI6 and flying around the world, bedding Playboy models but in a weird way, it remains exciting. What shit will be flung at us next? It’s a strange, dandy misery where I can see the foetus of a great story being formed from us all. On the microscopic, it’s a story of personal development and a hypnotic adventure while on the gigantic, it’s all of human history interlinked and moving through time like Lewis Carroll’s Caterpillar.

The oddity and constant oxymoronic nature of life at a university in 2017 is, as I find to be, a microcosm for human life: everyone fucking each other; fighting each other; panicking about finances, and just generally trying to stay afloat. Or stranger still, like those one-in-a-million stories: changing the world.

The Caterpillar

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