Nicole:

Exam season at Cambridge creates an atmosphere of fear-induced delirium like no other. Amidst the Easter term haze, I found my peers surrendering to some novel revision methods that resembled attempts at coping; many a pint was taken to the library, and many packs of Sainsbury’s potato waffles were consumed. Simple habits became vital lifelines throughout those blurry seven weeks.

My own strategy in exam term became, surprisingly, dance. It brought life back to my limbs between practise exam questions, and a glimpse of momentary joy in the bleak UL. The four minutes, forty-three seconds respite of Madonna’s ′Into the Groove’ transported me to better, brighter days, when Cambridge clubs weren’t in exam-induced hibernation. The release from the library became associated with the joy of making my eardrums bleed with a Revs-inspired playlist once I was home.

The West Hub rave-based revision tells me two things: that people do find dancing just as freeing from academic shackles as I do, and that students’ creativity finds new highs (and lows) under pressure. We seek new and personalised strategies, like utilising the Pomodoro method between rounds of silent disco. Attempts at merging work and play range from rational to the inventive and unexpected.

The revision rave epitomises the importance of small joys. A short interval of Rihanna between essays brought my mind back to simpler, realer things, just like gorging on a packet of potato waffles or the mind-cleansing college pint. Small comforts take on a newfound importance when everything else is in tumult. Whether it’s a dance break, short stroll, favourite chocolate, or a rogue night in Mash even when exams are around the corner, these small indulgences begin to truly matter.

"Small comforts take on a newfound importance when everything else is in tumult"

When the Northern Lights came to Cambridge in May last year, I remember a) not being completely sober and b) watching my peers pour out from their hallways into the middle of the grassy diamond, and slowly seeing faces morph into delight. Coming together unpredictably, in the middle of the night, all with our eyes pointed at the sky, we forgot our anxiety and were captured by something so much simpler. Whilst not exactly a rave (despite the neon lights, no dancing took place), for me at the very least, it signalled a welcome break from the weeks of worry which had come before. To be able to look at the small joys, like the sky, the dance break, the college pint, the things we can love and enjoy in the present, is how we revitalise ourselves when everything else surrounding us appears dark.

Martha:

It’s a sorry situation when tickets to a ‘revision rave’ sell out faster than club tickets, as Cambridge once again fails to equip students with ‘real life’ experiences. West Hub’s revision rave was deemed a success, selling out tickets, producing positive reviews and completed essays. But why have students resorted to ‘raves’ in order to manage workloads? And does the university permit students to equip themselves for real life after their degrees?

Clearly, something has gone wrong if students opt for a sober, study-based rave over a drunken club night. Do we not have time for hangovers, or have the hallowed halls of Cambridge convinced us we’re too good for messy student life? The use of the term ‘rave’ to describe the West Hub event is extremely liberal, in the form of twenty-five minute study sessions split by 10-minute boogies. Are we really sending students into the real world having never climbed barbed wire fences into warehouses, but knowing Chaucer’s works by heart?

"Clearly, something has gone wrong if students opt for a sober, study-based rave over a drunken club night"

It’s safe to say this ‘study rave’ has shown that at Cambridge, fun is not worth having if it isn’t productive. Students have forgotten we can socialise outside study dates, library meet-ups, and now, ridiculously, revision ‘raves’. Academia is so ingrained in our psyche it is the norm.

Take, for example, our subsidised buttery meals, and miniscule ‘gyps’. It doesn’t take a genius to realise this combination exists to keep us working. This is concerning on two levels: firstly in enabling the unmanageable workloads Cambridge gives us; secondly in the lack of preparation we receive before entering adult life.

Cambridge may produce top students, but it also produces adults without basic skills. We have to accept that whipping up pasta and pesto in the real world will impress no-one. College bars close before midnight, but libraries remain open to the early hours. By keeping some libraries open 24/7, all Cambridge does is facilitate unhealthy ‘all-nighters’. Unless the university provides reasons we need access to Kant’s works at 3am, I won’t be convinced otherwise.

As students, we don’t have the option to go out and get messy. The university doesn’t allow it. We may provide unrivalled teaching, but lose the real ‘university experience’ – one shouldn’t be sacrificed for the other. Finding a balance between work and social life, and being permitted to do so by the university would improve the student experience. The West Hub study ‘rave’ proves we aren’t there yet.